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GAI SABER 



GAI SABER: 

TALES AND SONGS 

BY 

MAURICE HEWLETT 



Quant vei lo temps renovellar, 
E pareis la fueill' e la flors, 
Mi dona ardimen amors 
E cor e saber de chantar . . . 

BERTRAND DE BORN.lefils. 



NEW YORK 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

igi6 






Printed in Great Britain. 

Chiswick Press : Charles Whittingham and Co. 

Tooks Court, Chancery Lane, London. 



CONTENTS 

Page 
Dedication: The Key 7 

I. CORMAC, SON OF OGMUND ... 9 

II. CORMAC TO STANGERD .... 17 
I. He Sees her Feet 
II. He Sees her Eyes 

III. She Lies and Listens 

IV, The Worth of Her 
V. His Philosophy 

VI. Apologue 

VII. The Lover's Creed 

Vin. They Kiss 

IX. Vituperation 

X. Joy of Battle 

XI. Love Grown Sour 

XII. Red Rage 

XIII. Mystic Mood 

XIV. His Conclusion 

III. NIGHT CRY 26 

IV. THE VOYAGE 28 

V. GUNNAR HELMING'S SAGA ... 40 

VI. lOCHEAIRA 58 

Vn. ILIAD III 63 

VIII. BEFORE DAWN 83 

IX. THE VEILED LOVER 84 

X. IN THE FOREST 97 

XI. DAPHNE AND LEUKIPPOS . . . . 102 

5 



6 Contents 

Page 

XII. PARALLELS 107 

XIII. HYMNIA 109 

I. " Because your soul is delicate " 

II. " Outward be dainty " 

III, " In the hedged garden " 

IV. " Sev'n swords " 

V. " Count it not loss " 

XIV. NIGHT-ERRANTRY 113 

XV. TO A PRETTY WOMAN . . . • "5 

XVI. SONG— THE PURE IN HEART . . . "7 

XVII. THE TWO EAGLES 118 

XVIII. ARKADIA 120 

XIX. DELOS 121 

XX. A CATCH 122 

XXI. WORLDLINGS 123 

XXII. TO THE POET LAUREATE . ... 125 

XXIII. 25 FEBRUARY 1897 126 

XXIV. WAR RIMES— 

I. A Short History of Man . . 129 

II. For Two Voices 140 

III. The Emperor of Almain . . . 141 

IV. A Singsong of England . . . 145 
V. The Soldiers Pass 148 

VI. A Balladof the "Gloster" . . .150 
VII. Soldier, Soldier 154 

VIII. Tye Street 156 

IX. The Drowned Sailor .... 159 

X. Brave Words from Kiel . . . 161 

XI. In the Trenches 164 

XII. Snow 166 

XIII. The Bugles 169 

NOTES 171 



DEDICATION 

THE KEY 

WHO turn'd the Sonnet like a key 
To unlock his heart has been reveal'd. 
The deed was done; the world made free 
With more than that hot shrine conceal'd. 

Another key there lay upon it, 

A heart of hearts, a master-key 
To play and pageant, song and sonnet, 

To Comedy and Tragedy. 

So here — who seeks, if he have wit, 
May learn the truth, what golden heart 

Beginning was and end of it. 

Fount of my passion and my art. 

If I have grace before I die 
To lock in verse your lovely worth. 

The Gods may plant me low or high; 
They'll leave the best of me on earth. 

London, 

10 May 1914. 



GAI SABER 
I 

CORMAC, SON OF OGMUND 

HERE is a tale I've lately read 
"Which says of Cormac Ogmundsson 
That he saw Stangerd with arms bare 
And neck and shoulders, full in the sun, 
Slanting her head to comb her hair, 
The loveliest thing he 'd lookt upon; 
And fell to love her then and there, 
And serv'd her long and might have wed, 
But had no joy of, as men reckon 
Their joy of women, board and bed, 
Kisses a-plenty, common bacon, 
And common toil for common bread 
To fill the mouths they make together. 

Joy of a kind natheless he had, 
They say, to his own taste or tether. 
And greatly loved and hugely dared, 
Riding the dales or upland heather 
9 



10 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 

Singing of Stangerd, being glad 
Because her blissfulness he shared 
With every other mother's son 
In this good world, with me, with you, 
With her two husbands, for she'd two, 
And buried both before he had done. 
Not only so, but he declared 
All Nature was her lord in fee, 
And bird and hill-flower, stock and stone, 
And spearing grass and springing tree. 
The clouds, the river and the sun 
Had Stangerd in coparcenry. 
Thus Cormac, Heaven and Earth conspired 
To make Desire most undesired. 
For as he lookt upon the thing 
Their beauty was a glass for hers, 
And nothing worth considering 
But what they told as messengers 
Of what she did and what she was. 
So the lark lift as she did pass 
And said, " The world is bright with glee 
Since Stangerd lookt and smiled on me: 
Therefore I sing ! " — or grass, '* Her feet 
Press me in love! " — or flower, " How sweet 
The breath of Stangerd when she goes 
With parted lips! " — or tree, " Who knows — 
Passing she laid a lingering hand 



Cormac, Son of Ogmund ii 

On me, and doubtful seem'd to stand 
Whether or not to take me to her — 
Who knows but she will let me woo her 
And be her lover in the dark 
When the sap throbs beneath the bark? " 
So did the cloud, a jealous lover, 
Beshadow her, as he would cover. 
And prove himself her bosom's lord. 
And make a guarded woman of her. 
Had not the sun with his bared sword 
Rent him with gashes, and outpour'd 
His courage on her; the which the river 
Rejoicing saw: " O thou brave giver 
Of heart to horse, and horse to pasture," 
Cried he, " I hail thee! Warm the blood 
Of Stangerd, that she slip her vesture 
And come to me, and know my flood! " 

Or take him in an earlier mood — 
His first when he cast eyes upon her — 
Which show'd him her, this burning lass. 
Daughter of Thorkel of the Tongue, 
Goddess's maid, a Maid of Honour, 
Flusht in the face, with hair like brass, 
Or corn that yellows to the sickle. 
Full tall and free and bold and young, 
Deep-bosom'd too, with deep blue eyes 
Like slumbering pools, — a girl of size, 



12 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 

Whom seeing no man you'd say would stickle 

To take to church and make a woman — 

Show'd her to him a spirit not human, 

Who whether in hall, robed in her white, 

She sat at ease with her arms bare 

And gaz'd before her at the light, 

Dreaming, and her vague eyes astare 

Encompast him and gave him sight 

Of their blue mystery and intent; 

Or whether about the board she went 

Serving the men with mead, and came 

And stood above him till he bent 

Before her, as before the flame 

The bushes in a forest bow 

And show all white — he had her name 

As if 'twas written on her brow: 

A Valkyr! Chooser of the slain! 

A storm-fraught Spirit fierce as pain. 

With whom to clasp and kiss, or grapple 

As man with woman, that were thought 

To deaden deed, as if you brought 

The lonely Night to bed, or fared 

To play below the gleaming thrapple 

Of the keen daughter of the snow. 

And froze when her white hills she bared. 

Therefore said he, " Ah! let her go. 

Mistress of Destiny, unmov'd 



i 



Cormac, Son of Ogmund 13 

Her way of Gods, her way of woe, 
But ever lovely and ever lov'd, 
Treading the necks of beaten men! " 

Now for the rift 'twixt Now and Then! 
While so submiss his own neck prov'd 
Other men's heads remain'd upright, 
And other eyes saw other light 
In Stangerd's; which when Cormac found 
Averse from his, then he partook 
With common men a common ground 
Of grievance, and a common grief: 
The grief of him who comes too late 
To market, or has been too stiff 
About the chaffer. Man forsook 
Is cheated man the whole world over; 
And vainly now this young tomnoddy, 
This too exuberant generous wooer, 
Rav'd for his benison of the body, 
And sang in vain what he might do her 
Upon a day unwritten of — 
He never did it as I hear. 
Tongue-work was all he had of love. 
Song-work and suchlike poets' gear. 
Yet much he dared and long he strove, 
Serving her so for many a year. 
Fighting and wandering, till he hove 
To sea, and vanisht, singing her. 



14 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 

Not mine to sing, at least not here, 
How to the tale came Battle-Berse, 
Stangerd's first husband, when Cormac, 
Betroth'd, handfasted as he was. 
Lover accepted, yet drew back 
At the last hour, a thing unchancy — 
Witchfinders hint at spell or curse 
Upon the plighting: each man has 
His own curse in him, and my fancy 
Sees Cormac storing her to heart 
To sing about in sounding verse, 
Making a goddess of a lass. 
Not better, but so much the worse 
The more herself had art and part 
In the business. Call this nigromancy 
Done by the spae-wife out of spite, 
I tell you Love 's a tricksy sprite 
For poets' bosoms. Love says, Kiss 
Your well-belov'd, she'll kiss again, 
Apt pupil; but it 's also true 
The more you kiss, the more you strain 
Together, the less lover you. 
And the more she. Skald 's wisdom is 
To love apart, since love is pain 
At all events, howe'er you do ; 
And out of pain that song cometh 
The which you live by, as by breath 



Cormac, Son of Ogmund 15 

Live some, and other some by kiss 
(As women all). Where there are two, 
And one a poet, one must rue — 
And it was Stangerd, as the case is 
Whene'er a girl accepts the embraces 
Of poet-lover. 

Of her now 
What shall we say? Was she in sooth 
The spirit few see but some may know, 
Even as believ'd our ardent youth — 
The Essence at the heart of things. 
Which makes them things? Substantial truth? 
The secret rose of loveliness, 
The very flicker in the wings 
Of birds, the thrill of sweet distress 
You get at heart when a bird sings 
At night? The fragrance, hue, impress, 
The very life within the dress 
That bodies beauty? Was all this 
Chance-held in Stangerd's blossomings 
For Cormac's vision and his bliss? 
Was she so rare or he so tender? 
He found her so by hit or miss. 
And so he paid for his lachess 
Or, if you please, his soul-surrender; 
For plain men saw — a piece of goods, 
Just a fine girl for all her splendour 



i6 Cormac, Son of Ogmund 

Of form and favour, made of moods 

And whims and hearty appetite, 

Who liked her supper and was clear 

What was and what was not her right. 

And so two took her for delight 

And serv'd them of her aptitudes, 

And rockt in many a swingeing fight 

With our young friend, and made good cheer; 

And when their turn came round she dight 

Their burial-clouts. 

And what she gain'd 
Of her wild lover, or how suffer'd 
To have her well of sweetness drain'd 
By one or other as he offer'd, 
She was a woman and men think 
Rewarded; for they craved, she profFer'd; 
They thirsted and she gave them drink; 
They dipt their cups for what she coffer'd; 
And if they needed, should she shrink 
Lest want might come on her? Their thriving 
We say was hers — without a wink. 
Because we mean it: she got by giving — 
For giving man life is a living. 
At least, that 's man's serene persuasion. 
He calls it her re-generation. 



II 

CORMAC TO STANGERD 
I 

HE SEES HER FEET 

O EYE-DECEIT or heart-deceit, 
Lo there, my blessing or my bane! 
A lover at a lady's feet 
Holding his heart, and there a pain! 

A lady's feet, and there a lover: 
A patch of snow left by the rain 
Afield, or two tufts of white clover . . . 
And near beside a young man slain. 

II 
HE SEES HER EYES 

The fire plays with my lady's eyes, 
And they make music in my head. 
The sea-blue bird that flashing flies 
Like a sword down the river-bed 
Links the green earth and azure skies; 
And so with me is Stangerd wed. 
When light with light is handfasted. 
b 



i8 Cormac to Stangerd 

III 
SHE LIES AND LISTENS 

Now Stangerd lay abed within 

The house's inmost sancTtuaries, 

With both her hands between her knees, 

And them drawn up towards her chin 

Touching the fulness of her breast; 

And her wide eyes could get no rest 

That sought the dark and saw clouds float, 

Clouds of crimson radiant mist 

Which gather'd, mass'd and cours'd above her 

More lovely than the wings of the West. 

If such wild heart should turn to love her, 

What love-words would not such a throat 

Pour for the overwhelming of her! 

IV 
THE WORTH OF HER 

For all that body's loveliness 
I would give Iceland and no less, 
And all the lands that lie between 
The land where the sun is never seen 
And the roaring Western main; 
And even so I should be fain 
To search the world for more to give : 
Yet search I must if I would live. 



Cormac to Stangerd 19 

V 

HIS PHILOSOPHY 

I love a lovely woman — well, 

And if some other love her — good! 

All goes to prove my hardihood, 

All goes her magicry to tell. 

For say she is a miracle, 

Say that her beauty is my food, 

Am I so surly in my mood 

That what feeds me rings t'other's knell? 

Nay, should a hundred be about her. 
And she of her great bounty feed them. 
Is that to say my heart must heed them ? 
Not so. 'Tis they can't do without her. 
Women are so made, they grow stouter 
Of heart the more their lovers bleed them. 

VI 
APOLOGUE 

There were four brothers loved one lass — 
Ask not how much or when this was. 
It was before the world took heed 
Of more than how to serve its need. 

Their need was sore, her bounty such. 
They askt not, nor she gave, too much: 



20 Cormac to Stangerd 

They roam'd the heath, they fought and kill'd; 
They were as one long sword and shield. 

She kept the house; there was no strife 
Within doors, such a sweet housewife 
Was she, this kindly-kindled lass. 
Such wife as no man living has. 

VII } 

THE LOVER'S CREED 

Well do they call you Sleeping Gold, 
Since no man lives that cannot see 
The light-flung glory which you hold 
As Erda holds her majesty, 
A thing of little worth, the fee 
Of whoso asketh, being bold. 
Let him draw nigh, the well is free, 
Say you, the fire for who's acold: 
Let him drink, warm himself of me. 

Your heart, O Stangerd, you hold up 
For asking men; they need but need. 
There is no bottom to the cup. 
There is no pauper but may feed. 
So in your calm eyes each may read 
The truth he asks, if he be true ; 
So to your arms all come indeed. 
And die, as they have liv'd, of you — 
And your gold sleeps and takes no heed. 



Cormac to Stangerd 21 

VIII 
THEY KISS 

Eye-level and heart-level they, 
And mouth-level; but till that day 
Never had been what now must be: 
Kiss'd mouth to kissing mouth is fast, 
And two hearts beating to one tune. 

Breathless and speechless for their boon 
They cling together; but they kiss 
No more; but mouth and mouth co-mix 
And make one being at the lips. 
And the burnt splendour of the moon 
Throbs with the heat of burning noon. 



IX 
VITUPERATION 

The scullion and his kettle-snake! 
What ail'd him and his blister'd tongue? 
Will he scrape me with his muck-rake, 
Scatter me as he scatters dung 
About the meadow? And the house 
That holds her harbours that wood-louse! 
Salmon and gudgeon in one lake, 
One tree — sea-eagle and titmouse! 



22 Cormac to Stangerd 

X 

JOY OF BATTLE 

When scythe and broad-sword come to blows 
Plain men take heart, and meadow-grass; 
But there's no pasture for the ass 
However fair the home-mead grows. 
Cudgel your wits, I'll cudgel your hides, 
Ye greedy pair of hoody crows. 



XI 
LOVE GROWN SOUR 

This is not love that drains me — nay, 
This is to crave. O girdled Fricka, 
Dare I come near thee with lips gray 
For need of thine, and hot tongue-liquor 
Where once my mouth was clean to pray? 

I would go back! There is no way 
To thin the blood I have made thicker; 
Save scratch for itch is no allay. 
The flame is at its dying flicker, 
Blown by hot breath, it cannot stay. 
Speed it with scorn that it die quicker — 
Alas the hour, alas the day! 



Cormac to Stangerd 23 

XII 

RED RAGE 

Berse, you have dared impossibly, 
Taking what I have feared to take, 
Looking where I have feared to see, 
Dipping where none may dip and be 
Still man, within the lonely lake. 
To have scaled the awful mountain pass. 
To have seen unblencht the untrod snows. 
Affronting with your front of brass 
The heart of the everlasting rose — 
You have dared enough, and shall give o'er 
Your daring. You have dared so much. 
Let it suffice: no more, no more. 

Yet seeing by that desperate touch 

There is come glory on your brow; 

And to your name the pride is such 

The man who bears it he must die, 

I tell you, Berse, the time is now. 

Before you've time to blur and dull it 

With your gross brain and teeming eye 

And tongue, when righteous hand shall clutch 

Your throat and take you by the gullet, 

And wrench the life out, and the lie 

You make of it. And here's the sign: 

The clutching hand writes this — 'tis mine. 



24 Cormac to Stangerd 

XIII 
MYSTIC MOOD 

Ah, now indeed I have her — now 
When I am leaving her for good. 
For good? Ah, yes, for now I know 
What Christians call their heavenly food. 
You see no flesh, you taste no blood, 
The holy flake shines like the snow; 
The sweet thin wine has the red flow 
But not the salt that drencht the Rood. 

Now I have feasted as I would 
And go my way with a full heart: 
Stangerd and I shall never part 
If I can keep this holy mood. 

XIV 
HIS CONCLUSION 

O land where the sea-eagle hovers, 
O mountain land and river-flood! 
Here is the wonder of the wood 
And here a tale of love and lovers. 

What have I done? I've heard the note 
Thrill'd by the wood-bird in the dark; 
It set me soaring like a lark 
That on his own song seems afloat. 



Cormac to Stangerd 25 

But what have I done? I was bHnd 
That thought I saw a fair maid pass 
And stroke my cheek. That was no lass. 
That spirit of the wandering wind. 

What have I done, but love too high? 
What have I done, but fall too far? 
I set my longing on a star, 
And there it burns, and here I lie. 



Ill 

NIGHT CRY 

YOU who in the night 
By your shining stair 
Shed soft respite 
On my despair, 
Hear what your lover saith: — 
It is my prayer 

That when I lie at my last odds, 
Man and still a child. 
Facing him who broods and nods 
The way of the wild, 
I may read Requiem 
In your eyes mild. 

By time and tide men score 
Their tale of hopes and fears; 
These have swept me frore 
And dull'd my ears; 
My eyes are dim, for they live 
Haunted by tears. 
Nothing else have I to tell 
Save what you have taught me; 
26 



Night Cry 27 

Yet I have lov'd you well 
Since Night caught me, 
Night and you, and the song 
Which you two taught me. 

Let them answer and speak 

By your gracious leave: 

You gave, I did not seek; 

Yet I believe 

When I go into the dark 

Your lips will murmur and grieve, 

Saying, This was man of mine 

And sought me long. 

Singling me by secret sign 

In and out of the throng: 

I was the first and the last 

In his song. 



IV 
THE VOYAGE 

THE night before our Lady's day 
I came to a break in my outward way, 
To where the land's end seemed to be; 
For now in a dark immensity 
Great water flowed, and out of the west 
The wind came wet, bringing unrest 
To all the earth from the open main; 
And I felt the darkness her doors twain 
Open and shut as the sea surged, 
Like her pulse made audible. 

There was nought that a man could tell 
Between me and the ways of sleep, 
Save that flood-water dark and deep. 
And that hot wind and passionate 
Which called me meet I know not what fate 
Near or far off; but I knew that a man, 
With bright blue eyes in his face of tan 
And teeth as white as the cherry flower, 
Was by who said, " This is the hour 
When you and I take boat. The ship 
Rides out yonder, the tide 's at neap. 
28 



The Voyage 29 

Come, you shall see the cities of men, 
Andthe plains and mountains and riversof them, 
And what the folk do under the eye 
Of the sun, and learn of their mystery." 
Stilly he spake, as if from his bed 
Of flowers and tapers the folded dead 
Should speak, not winking his shut eyes 
Nor breaking the dream wherein he lies. 
Stilly smiling, wise and not fierce. 

Rending the dark with eyes and ears, 
I saw a ship but a bowshot out, 
I saw her headlight leap and lout 
As she dipt to the trough or climbed to be 
Atop the ridges of that dark sea. 
I heard the waves break at her bows 
And the cries of sailors at work or carouse 
As they clankt the anchor chain 
Against the word to haul amain; 
And I saw lights running here and there 
Over the deck, and knew what air 
Sang in her shrouds. Then I took boat — 
He pusht her out and I felt her float 
On unknown sea from the unseen shore — 
I at the helm and he at the oar 
Climbed the ridges of that dark sea 
Through the black water racing free, 
To rock in the lew of the ship's side. 



30 The Voyage 

Straining there, head to tide, 
With broad dipt bosom and lifted wing, 
Lightly swaying, a living thing. 
Strained to windward. 

The anchor weighed, 
She shook herself, now stoopt, now stay'd, 
And drave her course into the wind. 
The white foam flew and stream'd behind, 
Flakes and splinters of pale gold — 
So God further the ship! Behold, 
The mast is a pointer, a wagging lance 
Weaving arcs where the mad stars dance 
Over the sky, as over the turf 
The windy tree-tops! With snap of surf. 
With surge and swallow along the keel, 
With plunging nose and dripping heel 
She took the seas. As for me I slept 
While about the world's girdle the sun crept, 
And stars paled, and Earth was tired, 
Like a woman too much hired 
And loved until she swoons away. 
The stars went out, the Earth grew gray, 
And I slept long on the breast of the sea 
Till the broad morning awakened me. 

O brave world that I lookt upon! 
Out on the green-capt cliffs in the sun 
The steeple bells were calling to God 



The Voyage 31 

Faithful people; white gulls rode 

Placid the ponded sea; the trees 

Out of heaven call'd down a breeze 

And, whispering to it, wafted it 

Over the sea. Like a wide sheet 

Of fairy water silver-white 

The sea lay dimpling in the light, 

Streakt and fretted with stipples where 

The wind had kist her bosom fair 

And left a blush to tell his daring. 

The breeze held on and shaped our faring 

West by south. It came on our quarter 

And drave us off into deep water, 

Out of sight of homely thing, 

Tilth and pasture and farm-steading. 

White villages, red-rooft towns, 

Gray manors in folds of the downs 

Hinting the kindly gods of the hearth; 

Out from the confines of the earth 

To where in sounding perilous seas 

Lay hid the Cassiterides; 

To water spread in a circle dim 

To a faint far edge, a silver rim : 

And the sky was a whole unbroken cup 

Of clear crystal, and hid us up. 

Four nights, four days since we set sail 
We drave the seas on a following gale 



32 The Voyage 

With never hint of the land or sight 
Of passing ship; but the fifth night 
The stars were suddenly quencht, there fell 
A hush on the sea, with a long swell 
Wherein we wallow'd and sat dumb, 
Grimly waiting the storm to come, 
Bow'd as a man is bow'd who saith. 
The end is near, when the end is death. 
Sudden it struck us flat, and the ship 
Reel'd; but then, as horse to a whip 
Shudders and lays his ears back 
Before mad flight, so she lay slack. 
Beaten, blind, and quivering. 
Then leapt forward, a madden'd thing 
Into a sea turn'd ravenous. 
Following, threatening, harrying us 
To forget God and the sun's cheer, 
And Love and Sorrow, and serve Fear 
And Lust-of-Living, his blood-brother. 
We knew the waves racing each other, 
Riding each other, each in haste 
To be first upon us, and first to taste 
Our dear blood; and so we fled 
Derelicfl, bare before that dread 
Space unmeasur'd and time annull'd. 
The fury past, the storm was lull'd. 
The wind dropt, and we heard the rain 



The Voyage 33 

Sting the water and thud amain 

On the deck of our beaten barque, 

Making a heaven of the dark 

Wherein we lay like a soused log, 

Drown'd in rain and the rain-fog, 

Sodden wrack upon the flood 

Without signal or neighbourhood 

Of aught but water above or below, 

And the sound of water; and, drifting so. 

On the sixth morning the clouds of storm 

Lifted, and lo! in the sea a form 

Vast and black, a lonely cliff 

Rear'd up like a hippogriff; 

And the foam flashing about his knees 

Was as if with wings he should beat the seas. 

To rise up and be free to soar. 

About his knees the sounding roar. 

About his head a cloud, we past 

On a swift tide, and felt the blast 

Of his fear like a stream of frozen air 

Dry our eyelids and lift our hair; 

And his howling foUow'd us on our flight 

Through the deep of the sixth night. 

But when the seventh dawn's white hand 
Was on the latch I saw a land 
Glimmering, husht and still asleep 
Without shadow, of cliff and steep 

c 



34 The Voyage 

And forest like a cloud. And in 

We drew, and saw the waves breaking 

On green flats, and heard the thrill 

Of One who sang there long and shrill, 

As to a harp a harp-player 

Who tilts his chin to feel the air. 

And holds a high continued note 

Trembling in his narrow'd throat, 

But finds no words. And there she stood 

Who made the song, on the verge of the flood, 

On a green shore in full sunlight, 

A slim woman, naked and white. 

With eyes that shone like the sun on swords. 

So near that I saw the singing chords 

Ripple as the sound past over. 

High were her hands to call her lover 

To kiss her and be glad of her; 

For they say the Sun is her paramour. 

And out of the sea she calls him to her 

To her fair service, to be her wooer; 

And he cometh to her every day. 

And at eve goes. 

We on our way 
Drave on a swift blue tidal race 
By dreaming shores of strange face — 
Forests and river mouths, with ships 
Sailing into the land, and strips 



The Voyage 35 

Of emerald verdure on either strand; 

Small white towns on the edge of the sand, 

And beyond an infinite country with far 

Mountains, wherein the Gods are 

For crown of all the heart's desire. 

And thence to a country burnt by fire, 

A bare country of weald and wold 

Brown and gasht, and a city old 

With a wall about; and beyond the walls 

Men plough'd the glebe. I heard their calls 

Over sea as the heavy, slow, 

Mild-eyed oxen went to and fro 

With bent heads under the yoke. 

So now the city, with thin blue smoke 

To veil her face, before us lies 

White and still, with her men like flies 

Crawling her streets and waterways, 

Her bridges and yards and busy quays; 

And over all a great church 

With a gilded dome. And I made search 

For cross or crescent atop, but none 

Was there, but instead a naked one 

Straddled and stood that all might see 

The glory of his virility. 

Gold was his hair, and bright gold 

The eyes of him. His hands he did hold 

On high, with fingers all outspread, 



36 The Voyage 

As the sun himself, when low and red 

He stoops to west, lets his beams fly 

Like long fingers over the sky. 

They say his name is Heelios, 

And his the city without a cross; 

And his the priests and the priestesses; 

And the altar-smoke and the blood are his. 

The night fell under new stars. 
And dawn came red with rumours of wars 
And dry heat. Most desolate 
Grew the shore as we coasted it; 
For now the round world beautiful 
Was bleacht like the dome of an old skull, 
Sutured with dykes where no water was 
And ridged under a sky of brass. 
And so we came to a great plain 
Of sand and stones, a place of pain 
Under the grin of the sun; and there 
Lay a dragon voicing his great despair. 
There alone on the sand did he lie. 
Bitter wounded and slow to die, 
Rearing on high his smitten head 
To challenge God; but the rest was dead, 
Huddled in flat folds: so he 
Served out his lonely agony. 
But we drave on in the glare of noon 
And came to a place of marsh and dune 



The Voyage 37 

Without trees; and there in that waste 
Armies fought; horsemen in haste 
Gallopt; and on the burnt knowes 
Men lay hidden and shot with bows, 
Kneeling up. I heard the twang 
Over the sea, and markt the pang 
"When a king fell shot, and his charioteer 
Fled, and left him glittering there 
In the light, like a lamp in a sunny place, 
A garish thing. 

We went on our ways 
Eastward now through seas of blue 
And flashing bronze like the hot hue 
That burns on a kingfisher's breast. 
Thereon great birds floated at rest 
Like lilies idle on a mere; 
Or clouds of them did drift and veer. 
Of wheeling flight and pondering eye 
Turn'd adown as they oared by 
About the ship's wake, crimson things 
With trailing feet and pointed wings, 
That glowed like fire behind a hill. 
And seemed to throb and wax until 
The glory was intolerable — 
And never a cloud to break the spell 
Of the long shining radiant days: 
The sun rose clean out of the haze 



38 The Voyage 

That like a scarf of smoke was trail'd 
About the distance, then and sail'd 
Naked to the zenith, and then 
Naked stoopt seawards again 
And veil'd in ocean his red rim 
And hid. And the gold air after him 
Fainted to amber, and in green 
Died. Rose then the silver queen 
Of night, and spread her violet cloak 
Over the world, and starlight broke 
From every point the eye could hold 
While her lamp burn'd, a disk of gold, 
And flamed on the sea in fiery flakes, 
And made a path for herself, and lakes 
Of shining water wherein to float 
Fishers in a fairy boat; 
And made a witchcraft of the night 
Until she paled, and the dawn light 
Shiver'd anew across the sea. 

So in the glimmer of day-to-be 
I saw a city her white arms wide 
Stretch to the shore on either side 
The bay. Her shipping was like a wood 
Of silver poplars hemming a flood; 
And her glory rose on terraces 
Of temples and marble palaces 
And broad stairways to cypress glooms 



The Voyage 39 

And the crowning of her place of tombs; 

For she is a temple of the dead 

Whom the living worshipt there, men said, 

Counting no one fortunate 

Until he share their calm estate. 

For in all the clamour of life's unease 

There is one thing to pray for — peace; 

And neither beauty nor wisdom skill 

Body nor soul ere they be still; 

And riches buy no thing so rare 

As sleep without dreams in windless air. 

Fared we then over wide sea-ways, 
And lost the land for a many days 
And nights of charmed solitude. 
With never a thing to break our mood 
Of spell-bound, high expecflancy. 
Then, behold! a cloud on the sea, 
A dim isle, and the very ship 
Seem'd to stay, as when to the lip 
The finger goes, and the oncomer 
Holds him, saying. Am I so near? 

And so by perils we were come 
Of warring over the sea foam 
To the land where I would be. 



V 

GUNNAR HELMING'S SAGA 

RUDE is this tale, from heathen mint, 
Like some old coin of theirs, gog-eyed, 
A ragged, straggle-bearded thing, 
A travesty of moneying 
With little on its face but pride. 
And yet the metal 's true inside. 
And there 's some virgin gold within 't — 
As when the heart of Sigrid cried. 
And Gunnar broke her wedding-ring. 
Making an unwed wife a bride. 
Also of laughing there 's no stint 
For men not over-san(5lified. 
Who saying, Heathendom is lies, 
Make prudery their prejudice 
And cry, A falsehood ! to begin't. 
But they who feel, as I proclaim. 
That there 's no virtue and no vice 
In human nature as of course, 
40 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 41 

Will drink me up as water horse; 
And as for women, by love made wise, 
They'll read so far and take the hint. 

It all begins with Ogmund Dint, 
Or Dinthead, called so because once 
Halward the Strong and peremptory 
Had knockt him down and crackt his sconce 
For him, and still it bore th' imprint 
Of a good man, and a good story 
Worth telling if time served — this Dint, 
Seeking to pay back that old score, 
Meets Gunnar Helming on the shore 
In his red hood, taking the air, 
As such a handsome rover might, 
And brings him in to the affair. 

Now Ogmund wore his famous cloak. 
For he was rich and took delight 
In raiment. It was green and black. 
Contrast as curious as rare. 
With a gold serpent up the back. 
And sable-tails like plumes of smoke 
To trim it, glorious to behold. 
Which eyeing, and the bearer of it, 
Says Gunnar, "Let me make so bold 
To ask you, Ogmund, not in joke 



42 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

But with a thought to common profit, 

Were such a garment to be sold 

Should you not be the man to doff it, 

And I go peacocking instead? 

The cloak is young, the cloak is fine; 

Your beard is grizzling, whereas mine. 

What though it leans towards the red. 

Is a young beard; and in my head 

No chasm yawns. Come then, combine 

With me and name your price ! " He smiled 

Engagingly. It were as easy 

To be offended with a child 

As with him, nor was Ogmund queasy 

Or high in stomach, who just now 

Had other cares to seam his brow. 

He laughed. "My cloak then, does it please ye? 

Then it is yours, but I'd be vext 

If money marred a pretty tie 

Between us. 'Twill be my turn next — 

Nay ! Since the wind is whistling shrewd 

And I'll be shivering by-and-by, 

A barter's always unoffending: 

Take it, and let me have your hood. 

'Twill serve to keep me warm and dry. 

And as for looks, I'm past the mending." 

So said, so done. They made exchange, 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 43 

And Ogmund, snug in Gunnar's red, 
Turned on his errand, but in going 
Stopt once again, and turning said, 
"You know the common beat and range 
Of all men here — where 's the bestowing 
Of Halward Strong? I have to speak 
A word with him." He stood, not showing 
His felon eyes, and smoothed his cheek 
With a soft hand. Says Gunnar, "He? 
Your friend? He 's new come from the sea. 
You'll find him washing off the reek 
And scurf of brine in company 
With other seamen at the Fish." 

Thereon they part, and Ogmund seeks 
The Fish, and there 's his man a-washing, 
To whom he whispers in the ear, 
A word apart. Low-voiced he speaks. 
And mighty Halward without fear. 
Just as he is, with soapsuds flashing 
Upon his beard, follows the hood. 
Sure deeming whom he deals with here. 
Into the yard. "What is't you would, 
Gunnar, with me ? " The axe falls crashing 
Into his neck, and sends blood splashing 
High up the wall — a debt made good. 
So much for Halward. Ogmund hies, 



44 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

Light on the foot as water-fowl 
Skimming the surface of a mere, 
Or crow that hops before he flies, 
With wary eye and heedful ear 
But much contentment in his soul. 
Out to his boat, and with a stone 
Sinks Gunnar's hood a fathom deep 
In ooze and water; gets aboard. 
And goes to bed, and so to sleep. 

Rumour's a strumpet, all men's keep, 
And now is busy. Names are roared 
About. One knew the hood, one heard 
Gunnar's own voice, one knew his walk, 
One saw him at it with a sword — 
No sword! 'Twas a long bill. No matter — 
'Twas Gunnar, that was flat, was flatter 
Than Halward now. So raced the talk 
In turbid stream. Then one brought word. 
The vital word in all this chatter, 
Which gave it substance, to Sigurd, 
Gunnar's own brother. Straightway he 
Took it to Gunnar. " Was this deed 
Your doing then ? " Gunnar not stirred. 
" That be far from me " — and thereon 
Shut down his lips, no more would say 
Neither to him nor any one. 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 45 

Then Sigurd: " You were best away. 
Off with you!" 

Now the tale goes on. 
Gunnar betook him to the woods 
And lurkt there for a season. Then, 
Wearying of berries and such foods 
As better nourish birds than men, 
Worked eastward to the open fen, 
Crossed marshes, skirted lipping floods 
Of sea-creeks, and addressed the ridge 
Which severs from each other's ken 
Norway and Sweden, brake the hedge 
Of utmost pines which from the snow 
Rise like a ragged eagle's wing, 
And roar whatever great winds blow. 
He faced the whiplash and the sting 
Of icy blasts, and so came down 
By many a ravine and rock-ledge 
To the Swedes' country all unknown, 
To forests deeper than his own 
Where by green roads strange companies 
Slipt thro' the aisles of sighing trees. 
Strange, furtive, long-haired, peering creatures 
With bird-bright eyes and sinewy knees, 
Their men like monarchs of a herd; 
And pale, shy women with the features 



46 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

And lonely ways of a wood-bird, 
Going soft-foot from place to place 
Between the aisles of silent trees. 



For in those days, through woody Sweden, 
Wherever was an open space 

There wonned and roamed the dangerous heathen 
In gathered bands, like reindeer. They, 
A sylvan folk and all untaught. 
Served painted gods, and chiefly Frey, 
A crowned God, with oak-leaves wreathen. 
Frey had their homage, for they thought 
The rain was his which grew the grass. 
And sun which burned it into hay: 
Briefly, all good that ever was 
Upon the land by him was brought. 
He willed it, and it came to pass — 
Such was his grandipotent way. 
Therefore this wonder-working Frey, 
This bounty-springing, welling heart 
Of earth, this fount of yearly course 
Of foison, they kept in a cart. 
Which two white oxen, sadly teased 
By yoke and nose-ring, haled perforce 
To village greens, to fair and mart. 
Wherever men were in concourse 
To buy or sell, to praise or pray. 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 47 

Four poles held up the curtains of it 

And hid the god until he pleased 

Give testimony of his art 

To muttering priest or mouthing prophet 

Who, given a favourable day, 

Might then reveal them painted Frey 

Like a young man with crispy hair, 

Forkt beard, curved mouth and nostrils gay 

With scarlet, and round eyes astare. 

His crown he wore, and held within 

His dexter hand a gilded cone, 

And in his left a rolling pin, 

Or that which had the air of one — 

A budded rod it seems to have been. 

That was the shrine and such the God 
Who swayed this folk in woodland dense, 
Signifying them with his rod 
Potential beneficence; 
And since they knew by common sense 
It is not good to live alone, 
Whether you live by prayers or pence. 
Whether within a block of wood 
You veil yourself, or shapen stone, 
Whether of board or wholesome meat 
You be, on Frey they had bestowed 
To be his wife a woman sweet; 



48 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

And there upon the cart she rode 
Beside of Frey, and shared his seat, 
A woman fair and very young, 
Vivid and dusky-haired, with eyes 
Like golden amber, and a tongue 
For music like a low-toned bell 
With a bloom on it, such as cries 
In the brown bird that men love well 
Who hear her low-crooned mysteries, 
The nightingale, which seems to gloat 
When the rich music creams her throat. 
And hers it was Frey's rede to tell 
Whenas the God had made her wise; 
She wrought the needful miracle. 
Calling the rain forth from the skies; 
Or when they brought up from the field 
Cow late with calf, or gravelled ox. 
Or horses galled, or slippery-heeled. 
Or spavined, or with running hocks, 
Or seedy-toed, or staggering. 
To lead beneath Frey's painted eyes, 
This still, slim, grave girl from her place 
Rose up and searched his wooden face, 
And there instrudled, she revealed 
His will who had her surely wed. 
Wedded she was, for unconcealed 
Within that cart there stood a bed. 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 49 

There, on some wild and empty night 

Of mystery close if not fulfilled, 

She lay with Frey, and there they said 

He had done with her what he might 

To overpass her maiden dread. 

There Frey slept now, and there she slept 

Whenas the oxen-cart was led, 

A fluttering, gaudy, welcome sight. 

From village-stead to village-stead — 

Or there she lay awake and wept, 

Perhaps, if you could get it right. 

Now to this place of sancftuary 
Came Gunnar Helming, and accost 
Frey's wife. " O woman fair to see. 
Be pitiful, or I am lost." 
" And who are you? " says she. He says, 
" I am an outland-faring wight 
Who needs must lurk in these wood ways, 
And sleep by day and go by night." 
She knit her brows and pondered Frey's, 
Her staring master. " He is not 
Too sure of you," she says, "and what 
Shall I do in such business 
Without his sancSlion? " Laughing light 
Gleamed in his eyes. " O sweet mistress," 
Says he — he was a merry man — 
d 



50 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

" Be you assured of my distress, 

And let Frey settle it as he can." 

She met his eyes and found them kind; 

She met his eyes awhile, and then, 

Feeling them fasten on the mind, 

She turned her own towards her feet 

And would not look at him again, 

Yet said, " Stay here a spell of days, 

It may be Frey will warm to it; 

He is not harsh with common men." 

•' Nor they with him," bold Gunnar says, 

"Who leave him cock of such a hen." 

All that long winter he abode 
With Frey and Frey's wife in the woods, 
And being fresh and lightly strung, 
Most tunable to laughing moods. 
The people found him well bestowed 
When to their feasts he brought a song 
Or rime. He had a golden tongue 
Full stored with rare vicissitudes 
To give men flavour to their drink. 
And Frey was present at the frolic. 
Listening to all without a blink, 
And Frey's young wife must be thereat. 
Of whom when Gunnar stayed to think 
He felt himself grow melancholic. 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 51 

To see how strange, how far she sat 

With fixt hard eyes and frozen face 

Beside that thing encased in fat 

Of varnisht gilt, a painted mammet! 

He'd grind his teeth and curse the place 

Which suffered such a monstrous fault. 

Unholy wedlock! 'twas a case 

To seal up paynimry in vault, 

And not to shut the door, but slam it. 

She too, by woman's wit made wise, 

Perhaps read this in Gunnar's eyes, 

Perhaps with trembling of the lip 

Confessed a tender partnership 

In his hot animadvertencies. 

It was peculiar to the dim age 

In which they were that Gunnar could 

Be jealous of a painted image, 

But that she should have understood 

The poor man's sentimental scrimmage, 

To see her tied to gilded wood, 

Slave to a block of orpiment, 

And found the situation good 

That held in him his discontent — 

That's woman's universal lore, 

Which discerns love, however blent. 

Through the long dark the winter wore, 



52 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

And men began to watch the weather, 

Counting the daylight minutes more, 

Looking for sign in fur or feather 

That life was stirring underneath 

The mounded snow and steel-ribbed ice 

To bring forth life where now seemed death; 

And once more Gunnar's and the eyes 

Of Frey's young wife were met together, 

Whenas he said, " Sweetheart, what now? 

Must I be gone ? " Her voice was low. 

Her will was like corn in the vice 

Of millstones, th' upper and the nether, 

That grind it small; for, losing him, 

What had she left? And if he stayed 

Frey might have scope for comment grim. 

She sought his painted eyes; they made 

A blare of blue, bleak as a blade, 

But not illumed her trouble-spot. 

Withal she said, " Nay, leave me not! " 

And Gunnar cried, "Your Frey's uncivil. 

For though of me he has no care. 

Nor lets me know it, just to stare 

When a sweet woman asks his pleasure 

Is showing less of god than devil. 

Now leave we Frey to find at leisure 

His godship's and my manhood's level." 

Sigrid said nothing, but her pair 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 53 

Of eyes sought his, and saw no evil. 

Now, so it is the time 's at hand 
When Frey must travel in his cart 
Upon his pious round to bless 
And fru(5tify the teeming land, 
And with his rod make throb her heart, 
And fill her womb with buxomness. 
Now are his oxen yoked to start, 
Now Frey is ready, ready she 
Who fills for him the wifely part; 
And, not so ready, with his goad 
Stands Gunnar by the axletree 
Musing upon his holy load. 
And wondering if on earth or sea 
Such blissful freight could ever be 
Untoucht, unheeded, unbestrode 
As in this cart he had bestowed. 
" O maid above all maids for me ! " 
He sighed, and urged the mountain road. 

They had not gone six leagues or seven 
Before a shrill wind 'gan to blow, 
A darkness blotted up blue heaven 
And filled the air with whirling snow. 
His heart within his breast was riven ; 
Which was his way he could not know. 



54 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

Nor how to save himself frostbite, 
Nor whether he had lost a toe; 
Nor how he stumbled, half in sweven 
And half on fire with rage and spite 
With gods above and gods below — 
Them that could turn day into night, 
And them abed while he must go 
Numb, blinded, battling, caked in white, 
A mockery and frozen show, 
Icebound to season Frey's delight! 
At last the blundering beasts could fight 
No more, nor move the fumbling wain. 
Gunnar turned round to back the blast 
And shook the curtain: "Hey! it 's plain 
The beasts are foundered and we're fast." 
Faint came her small voice, moved at last, 
" O Gunnar, pity on my pain! " 

He fed his beasts and overcast 
Their heaving flanks, like a good drover, 
And forthwith to the cart he passed, 
A freezing man but burning lover. 
There within the bed lay she 
With her dark hair spread like a fan, 
And harewide eyes which lookt him over 
As if she saw another man 
Within the husk of him she knew, 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 55 

That man whom most a maiden fears 

Before she finds she loves him too. 

And there in all his paint of pride 

Stood Frey, to watch what he would do, 

Glaring. But Gunnar's was no mood 

To palter with imposing wood. 

" You Frey," he said, " let us discover 

Which of us two has mastery. 

The god or man; and who shall ride 

The curtained waggon, and make free 

Of this good bedstead; and whose bride 

Is this sweet woman presently." 

So said, he came on light and fierce, 

While Sigrid quaked within her form, 

Laid hold of Frey by both his ears 

And rocked him as the mountain storm 

Plays bitter sport and overbears 

The upland trees. "O Frey," she hears 

Him say, " If I am overbold 

It is no wonder. You are warm. 

And in your heat I am not cold." 

He lifted Frey as one who bears 
A brimming pitcher, and him set 
An arm's length off, what time she peers 
To see him, but affecSts not see 
How her stiff husband is beset. 



56 Gunnar Helming's Saga 

" Stand there, my gilded stock," says he, 

" You are not one for idle tears 

If you are what I think you be. 

Nor do I score up old arrears, 

Nor look full reckoning to get 

Of your snug quarters of three years, 

Your ancient fraud and her young fret. 

Not so, but I am all apaid 

By the warm usury of this maid." 

So said, he laid hands on the axe 

Which hung familiar on a nail, 

And whirling it, a way he hacks 

Through Frey from headpiece to the tail. 

" Lie there," he says, " thou half-hewn pale 

Till thou enrich the kindling-stacks 

Of honest men, and sue thy bail." 

He snuffed the candle with a flip 

Of finger, and made haste to strip 

His sogging clouts; then unafraid 

Him by her quaking side he laid; 

And true it is, as they aver 

(Who never had it out of her), 

That ere her cold lips could say knife 

The wife of Frey was Gunnar's wife. 

I know not that it boots to tell 
How Gunnar said, "Sweetheart, is it well?" 



Gunnar Helming's Saga 57 

And she, " Oh, yes " ; and yet once more, 
" Is it well, sweetheart "? As before 
She answered, " Yes." And on the floor 
Lay cloven Frey, as stiff a brede 
As any other log in store, 
With much less bulk, and no more heed. 
A last time Gunnar said, " Sweetheart, 
Is it well now? " She said, " Oh, yes." 
So then he laughed, and for his part 
He needed her assurance less 
The less she said. Upon the night 
The sheeted snow lay fleecy white; 
And Frey's two oxen, being snug 
Each in his goodly woollen rug. 
Sheltered by snow rampart-walls, 
Dreamed they were drowsing in their stalls 
With cuds to chew, and took no harms. 
No more than Sigrid in strong arms. 



VI 
lOCHEAIRA 

NOW I will sing of the Maid 
High-girdled, of filleted hair, 
And unfetter'd knee, 
And bow-arm naked and free, 
Deep in Taygetos, there 
Where she loves to be. 
On the lonely lawns under the stare 
Of the snow-pikes, fleetly she speeds, 
Wild as the flung foam of the sea. 
Cold and keen as the frost in the air, 
Savage in sport as the hoar-frost — 
And even so 

Suddenly melting to our poor needs 
In the plain below, 
Sorrowing our early lost. 
But I love her most 

Winging her hills, where the sharp wind stings 
In the bents as she fleets. 

When the trees crack in the gale, and her wings 
are the wings 

58 



locheaira 59 

Of the snow-charged north. 

Her arrows go whistling forth 

Sparkling like frost .... And I love her still 

retreats 
In the thick brush, in the ferny brake, 
Under the great trees 
Where the tall deer quake 
And the boar boweth his knees 
In the reeds of the pool; and her arrow sings 
Thro' the aisled trees — 
And he stumbles, with glazed eyes and dim! 

Sing of her, Queen of the Lake, 

Sing true for her secret sake 

Her haunt by the rushy mere 

Up in the hills, a sapphire flake, 

Pheneus the blue and clear; 

And then take heart and see her 

By the great rivers that flow 

Green, furious, fretted out of the snow 

Down the valleys of rocks; 

And not less dear, and not less holy 

Her mood of pastoral melancholy — 

The broad rivers gliding through meadow lands 

Among the yellow corn-shocks. 

For here, to him who knows, she haunts, 

And here she breatheth peace 



6o locheaira 

And hope and good increase; 

Upon the shallow ford, upon the sands 

And pebbly brink 

Whereat the slow-eyed cattle drink, 

And each deep-drinker plies 

His tail among the clouded flies. 

And the sun goes red to the folding mists of 

the fen. 
Chant her in rivers; and then 
Seek for her on the wet wide strands 
Where the brown water boileth upon the bar; 
And beyond, where the rollers are. 
And the birds gleam and circle and wail; 
And where the tall ships sail 
You shall find the print of her feet and feel her 

moving hands. 

O loveliest by far 

Of high God's daughters. 

Mistress of hills and woods and waters, 

What can I do 

Under thy spell, 

O lovely shrew, 

O untameable, 

Of fierce face and hair blown back 

And clencht hands and beautiful mouth so fell — 

What can I do under thy spell 



locheaira 6i 

But await the flash of thine eyes' deep blue 

To slay or spare, 

To beam upon me or light askare 

Even as the whim flies through? 

Thy face is aflame, and thy breath 

A pasture of sharp flowers — 

Thyme and box and mountain heath 

Under the ringing hours 

When the sun is high and his stroke is death. 

High as he, my lady, thou goest, 

Knowing nothing of doom or death: 

But I in the open lands 

Praise thee with ready hands, 

And bathe my face 

In the wind and light of thy dwelling-place. 

When Delos driven out by weather 

Roam'd the sea a restless course, 

Vext, so soon that Leto's feet 

Were cool'd, her anguish ended — 

In that peace that follow'd doubt 

Cam'st Thou to earth; the sun threw out, 

And in the windless caves of night 

Sail'd the silver moon. 

There, because a holy calm 

Open'd from beneath the Palm 

After the twin birth. 



62 locheaira 

God said, I have chosen thee, 
Delos; thou art and shalt be 
Navel of the Earth. 

There, Thou wonder and delight, 
Breath of Heaven and light of light, 
There I saw thee, and there stood 
In thy fragrant neighbourhood. 
There beginning, there was found 
Consummation: I was crown'd. 
Now no further word be said. 
We are plighted, we are wed: 
One heart is our marriage-bed. 



VII 

ILIAD III 

THE OATHS, THE OUTLOOK FROM THE 

WALL, THE BATTLE OF PARIS AND 

MENELAOS 

NOW being ordered, all ranks with their chiefs, 
The Trojans came on clamorous, flockt like 
birds: 
Just as to Heaven goes up the crying of cranes 
Which flee the winter wet and with harsh cries 
Seek out the ocean, carrying murder and woe 
Upon the Pigmy tribes, and with the light 
Bring battle — so went they. Silent the Greeks 
Came out against them, courage in their breath. 
And eagerness of man to succour man. 
When over mountain crests the South wind 
blows 
Mist, such as shepherds fear and thieves love 

more 
Than night, and eye can see but a stone's cast — 
So thickly now under their feet the clouds 

63 



64 Iliad III 

Of dust roU'd up, as o'er the plain they came; 
Whereon, being in range each of the other, 
Came godhke Paris forth to champion Troy, 
Wearing a leopard-skin, bent bow to hand, 
Sworded; and in his hands he shook two spears 
Headed with bronze, and cried the Argive chiefs 
To battle with him unto death. 

Him there 
Mightily striding out. King Menelaos, 
Whom Ares lov'd, markt down, and in his heart 
Laught, as a lion when he happens on 
The carcase of a horn'd stag or wild boar. 
Ravening, and falls to feast, what tho' fierce dogs 
And lusty men beset him — so laught out 
The eyes of Menelaos when they lit 
On goodly Paris, deeming vengeance come 
For sin, and arm'd leapt from his car to earth. 
And Paris saw him foremost, and his heart 
Stood stricken, and he fell back on his friends 
Out of Fate's way: so in a mountain glen. 
Seeing a snake, a man flings back and feels 
His shaky knees, and runs as pallor gains 
His cheeks — so in the dread of Atreus' son 
Slipt goodly Paris backward to the throngs 
Of Troy. There Hektor saw him and revil'd 
With bitter words: 

"Thou Paris, seeming fair, 



Iliad III 65 

Thou woman-hunting cheat, now would to God 
Unborn thou hadst slept or else unwedded died! 
That were my prayer, and better far, God knows, 
Than have thee here a shame and scare of men. 
Well may the long-hair'd Greeks laugh that we 

chose 
A chief for his good looks, in whom 's no might 
Nor mettle in the heart. Art thou the man 
Who sail'd the seas in ships adventurous 
With chosen mates, and commercing abroad. 
Out of far country brought back a fair woman, 
Wife to a son of warriors, to be a curse 
Upon thy father, on thy city and folk, 
Joy to thy foes, and unto thee a shame? 
Canst thou not face Menelaos? Go to. 
Thou shouldst have known the man whose lovely 

wife 
Thou keepest. Not a harp will serve thy need, 
No, nor the Cyprian's gifts of face and hair 
Whenas thou liest mingled with the dust 
Beneath him. Very cowards we Trojans be! 
Else before now a chiton of flung stones 
Were thine for all the mischief thou hast done." 

Him that fair Paris answer'd: " Hektor, in sooth 
With reason chidest thou me, not out of it; 
But thou art keenly hearted, like an axe 
Wherewith a craftsman cuts him thro' a beam 

e 



66 Iliad III 

And shapes the timbers for a ship — whose skill 
Betters his blows: so drives thy dauntless wit 
Within thy breast. But throw not the sweet gifts 
Of golden Aphrodite at me. Not so 
Are the Gods' splendid bounties to be spurn'd, 
The which, because they choose, they give, which 

none 
Can win by longing. Now then, if thou choose 
See me engage in battle, make to sit 
Thy Trojans, make the Greeks sit down; set me 
Midmost them all with warrior Menelaos, 
To fight for Helen and her gear; and he 
Who proves the better takes her and her wealth, 
And takes them home. And let all men engage 
Friendship and sacred oaths, that we may dwell 
Here in deep-hearted Troy, and they depart 
To pasturing Argos, and fair-daughter'd Greece." 
So he said, and Hektor heard him and was glad. 
And going in the midst of them, refrain'd 
The Trojan companies, holding his spear 
Mid-shaft; so they sat down; but still the Greeks 
Plied their long bows and aim'd their shafts, or 

cast 
Stones at him, till with a mighty voice the King, 
Even Agamemnon, cried, "Ye Argives, hold! 
Ye sons of the Achaians, stay your hands! 
Lo, bright-helm'd Hektor hath some word to say." 



Iliad III 67 

So stay'd he battle, so were silent all, 

And Hektor stood between the hosts and said: 

" Hearken, you men of Troy and mailed Greeks, 
The word of Paris, for whose deed we fight, 
Saying, Bid all the Trojans and all Greeks 
Lay their fair arms upon the bountiful earth 
While in the midst he with King Menelaos 
Alone does battle for Helen and her gear; 
So he who proves the better takes the wealth 
And takes the woman too, and takes them home; 
But let the rest pledge friendship and sure oaths." 
So said he, and they all kept silent: then 
Spake Menelaos of the loud war-cry: 

" Me you shall hear, seeing my grief is worst. 
Now then I think at last the severance comes 
'Twixt Troy and Argos, the which have suffer'd 

sore 
For this my grief after that first sin done, 
Even Paris's. Now of us two, for whom 
Death and his Fate are ready, let him die; 
But for you others, go with speed your ways, 
And bring two lambs, a white ram and black ewe 
For Earth and the Sun; bring me a lamb for 

Zeus; 
And fetch King Priam hither, that himself 
Engage in the oath, seeing these sons of his 
Are proud and treacherous, and lest any man 



68 Iliad III 

By trespass violate the rite of Zeus; 
For young men's hearts ever do overween, 
But not old men's: they look before and after 
How best to serve both sides." 

So he, and all 
Rejoiced, both Greek and Trojan, for they saw 
A stay of woeful war. Then they drew back 
The chariots into ranks, and sat them down 
And put by arms, the which upon the earth 
They laid, near one another. Little ground 
Was there between. And Hektor sent two men 
Heralds into the city to fetch the lambs 
And summon Priam. And Agamemnon bid 
Talthibios to the ships to fetch a ram; 
Who went obeying his lord Agamemnon. 

Now Iris brought the news to white-arm'd 

Helen 
In likeness of her husband's sister, wife 
To Antenor's son, Laodike, whom he, 
Lord Helikaon, wedded (and she was 
Of all King Priam's daughters the most fair); 
And in the hall found Helen at her loom 
Weaving a purple web of double fold, 
Whereon she had ywrought a many fights 
'Twixt Trojans, that sway horses, and mail'd 

Greeks, 



Iliad III 69 

The which for her sake Ares drave them to. 
Standing beside her now, swift Iris spake: 
" Hither, sweet sister, see what notable work 
Do Trojans, that sway horses, and mail'd Greeks 
Who erst upon the plain waged woeful war 
One on the other, eager for the strife; 
But now sit silent, all the battle stay'd. 
And rest upon their shields, their good spears 

planted 
In earth, while Paris and stout Menelaos 
With their spears strive for thee, and who prevails 
Shall have thee, and thou shalt be call'd his wife." 
And with her words Iris cast sweet desire 
In her for her first lord, and land, and folk; 
So straight she veil'd herself in shining linen 
And left the chamber, shedding a round tear, 
But not alone, but with her two maids went, 
Aithre, Pittheus' daughter, and Klymene 
Of the brown eyes. So to the Skaian gates 
Came she. 

There sat, even at the Skaian Gates, 
With Priam Panthoos and old Thymoites, 
Lampes and Klytios, Hiketaon whose root 
Was Ares, and Oukelagon, with him 
Antenor — wise men both, elders, stay'd now 
By eld from war, but in assembly good; 
Like the cicalas that in woods do sit 



70 Iliad III 

On trees and tune sharp voices, so sat they, 
Elders of Troy, upon the tower, and saw 
Helen come thither; and softly thus they said: 

" Small blame to them that Trojans and mail'd 
Greeks 
For such a woman bear so long such pains: 
Wonderfully like a goddess is she! But so. 
Even as she is, let her go back to the ships. 
And not stay here, woe to us and our sons." 

So they; but Priam call'd her with his voice. 
Saying, " Hither, dearest child, sit thee with me, 
So thy first lord, and kin and friends thou'lt see; 
Nor think I blame thee — nay, but I blame the 

Gods 
Rather, who rais'd this dolorous war of Greeks 
Upon me. Now then, name me that fine man. 
That Greek of might and stature, who he is. 
Lo, by a head others out-top the man, 
Yet never saw I with these eyes so fair. 
So royal an one, so like unto a king." 

Then Helen, that fair woman, answer'd him: 
" Reverend and dread, dear sir, thou art to me, 
Yet I would evil death had been my joy 
When that I follow'd hither with thy son. 
Household and kin forgot and growing child, 
And lovely age-mates! . . . 
But that was not so, so I pine and weep. 



Iliad III 71 

Now for thy questioning, I'll answer thee — 
That is Atreides, wide-realm'd Agamemnon, 
Both noble king and spearman good, own brother 
To the lord of me the shameless, if ever woman 
Was shameful." 

So she said, and the old King 
Wonder'd and said, " Happy art thou, Atreides, 
Blessed of God and fortunately born 
To sway so many of the sons of Greece ! 
Nov/ faring once to vine-girt Phrygia, there 
I saw a mort of Phrygians, men of steeds 
Invincible, Otreus' folk and goodly Mydon's, 
Who by Sangarios' banks stood to their arms 
What time as their ally I rankt with them 
That day the Amazons came, the peers of men — 
But they were not so many as these Greeks." 

And seeing next Odysseus, the old man said, 
" Now tell me this, dear child; who is that man 
Less by a head than Agamemnon, yet 
With broader girth of breast and back than he? 
Behold, his arms lie on the bountiful earth, 
But like a bellwether he ranks his host 
Of men — yea, like a thick-fleec'd ram I see him 
That ordereth his white company of ewes." 

And Helen answer'd, sprung from Zeus himself, 
" He is Laertes' son, crafty Odysseus, 
Bred up in Ithaka, rough though that be, 



72 Iliad III 

And skill'd in all the cunning wiles and shifts 
That may be." 

Then said wise Antenor, " Lady, 
That is a true word spoken. Hither once 
Came that Odysseus, ambassador for thee. 
And with him Menelaos, Ares' friend; 
Whom I entreated friendly in my house 
And learn'd of both their nature and wise ways. 
For when among us Trojans in Assembly 
They were, and all stood up, King Menelaos 
Surpast us all in breadth, but sitting down, 
Odysseus was the finer man; and when 
They were for weaving webs of words and plans 
Before us all, Menelaos spoke well — 
Few words but clear, being no much-speaker 
Nor yet a random, tho' the younger; and then 
Odysseus rose, the crafty one, and stood 
Looking adown, his eyes rooted to earth, 
Neither swaying his staff before or back. 
But holding it stiff, like some dull-witted man. 
An oaf you would have said, just like a fool; 
Then let he forth his deep voice from his chest 
With words that fell like winter snow — and none 
Of mortal men could face Odysseus then. 
Nor did we wonder, seeing the man's aspecTt." 

Thirdly the old King saw Aias, and askt, 
" Who is that other Greek, mighty and great. 



Iliad III 73 

Out-topping all by measure of head and shoul- 
ders? " 
And long-rob'd Helen said, the fair lady, 
" That is huge Aias, buttress of the Greeks; 
And over against him with the Cretan men 
Idomeneus like a god, and all about him 
Are set the Cretan captains in a band. 
Oftentimes Menelaos, Ares' friend, 
Welcom'd him to our house when forth from Crete 
He chanc't to come. Lo now, I see them all, 
The quick-ey'd Greeks, whom I might know, and 

tell 
Their names — but two I see not, leaders of men, 
Kastor, to wit, the horseman, and the boxer 
Polydeukes, my brethren, who were born 
Of my own mother. Either came they not 
From lovely Lakedaimon, or they came 
Out in the sea-going ships, but choose not join 
The battle of the hosts, asham'd to face 
The many flouts and curses which are mine." 

So she : but them the fruitful earth held close 
In Lakedaimon, fast in their own good land. 

Now heralds thro' the city bear the lambs 
Of pledge, and mellow wine, fruit of the earth 
Bottled in goatskin; and Idaios bore 
A golden bowl and cups of gold, and stood 



74 Iliad III 

By the old King and urged him with these words, 

" Son of Laomedon, arise, the chiefs 

Of the Trojans that sway horses and mail'd Greeks 

Summon thee to the plain, there to take oath. 

Paris with Menelaos, Ares' friend, 

Do battle with their spears to have the lady, 

Who with her gear shall fall to who prevails. 

We who are left, pledge we our loves and words. 

And bide in deep-soil'd Troy, while they depart 

To pasturing Argos and fair-daughter'd Greece." 

At this the old man trembled, but bid yoke 
His horses, which was speedy done; so he 
Got up and drew the reins back, and with him 
Antenor mounted the fair chariot; 
And those two drove down thro' the gates to the 

plain, 
And coming to the Greeks and Trojans, down 
Out of the chariot gat they to earth, and went 
Midway the hosts. Then rose that King of Men, 
Agamemnon, then rose that crafty one, 
Odysseus, and the offerings to the Gods 
Were brought by heralds, and the wine was mixt 
In the bowl, and on the kingly hands they poured 
Water; and then Atreides drew the knife 
Which by his great sword's side hung ever, and 

shav'd 
The lambs' heads, and the heralds dealt the hair 



Iliad III 75 

Among the Achaian chieftains and the Trojans 
What time Atreides lifted hands and prayed, 
Saying: " Father Zeus, most glorious, most great. 
Lording the world from Ida, and thou, Sun, 
Who seest us and hearest all we do; 
Ye Rivers, Earth and thou, and Ye beneath 
Who avenge on broken men their broken oaths. 
Witness our deed, watch over this our oath! 
If Paris slay Menelaos let him take 
Helen and all her gear, while we fare forth 
Home in the sea-going ships; but if the King 
Slay Paris, let the Trojans give her back. 
Her and her gear, with ransom to the Greeks 
As seemly is, whereof the fruit shall live 
Hereafter. But if Priam and his sons 
Choose not redeem the death of Paris, here 
Stay I, to fight and win the price of wrong 
Even to the end of war and my own end." 

So said, he cut the lambs' throats with the knife 
And laid the vi(5\ims, gasping their last breath. 
On ground: there lay they strengthless from the 

knife. 
Then they poured wine forth from the bowl to the 

cups 
And prayed the Gods — andthusperhaps mightpray 
Some Greek, some Trojan: "Zeus, greatest and 

best. 



76 Iliad III 

And all ye Deathless Ones, which first of us 
Upon this oath do wropg, even as we pour 
This wine, so let his vitals flood the earth, 
His and his sons', and let his wife be thrall 
To other men! " 

They prayed so, but the son 
Of Kronos would not yet fulfil their prayer. 
Then Dardan Priam spake to all the folk: 
•* Hearken to me now, Trojans and mail'd Greeks, 
I will return again to windy Troy, 
Seeing my son and Menelaos fight. 
Which is a sight these eyes dare not. But Zeus, 
Zeus and the deathless Gods, they know, they 

know 
Which of those two may be appointed to die." 

So said, the godly man laid up the lambs 
In the chariot, himself got up and drew 
The reins back, and Antenor after him; 
And the pair of them drave back to Troy. 

But Hektor, 
The son of Priam, with Odysseus laid 
A ground, and then took lots and shook them up 
In a bronze helm, to see which first should cast 
Spear at the other man. And all men prayed 
With hands uplift; and Greek or Trojan would 

say, 
** O Lord of Ida, glorious, great, let him 



Iliad III 77 

Who wrought this woe upon us find his death 
And Hades' house; but give us pledges of love! " 

So might they pray while bright-plum'd Hektor 
shook 
The helm, turning his face. Forth came the lot 
Of Paris. Then the people all sat down 
In companies, there where the gear and horses 
Of each man were. And fair-tress'd Helen's lord, 
Paris, did on his shining arms; and first 
The greaves upon his legs, most fair to see, 
Clasping the silver clasps; the breastplate next 
Which was Lykaon's his brother's did he on 
And fitted; then his sword of bronze he cast 
Over his head, a silver-studded sword. 
A great shield and a weighty took he, and last 
On his proud head he set a workt fair helm 
With horse-hair crest, a nodding dreadful thing, 
And took and handled a strong spear. So also 
Did warlike Menelaos on his arms. 

Now being arm'd each in his host, they came 
Midway between the Trojans and the Greeks 
With look so fierce that marvel was to see 
For Trojan that sways horses or mail'd Greek. 
Near to each other, in the order'd lists, 
Stood they with shaking spears and eyes of rage ; 
And first his shadowing spear Paris let drive 
And smote Atreides midway his round shield, 



78 Iliad III 

But brake not through the bronze, for that good 

shield 
Turn'd back the point. And then the son of 

Atreus, 
Menelaos, lift spear, but first he prayed 
To father Zeus, " Grant me vengeance, O King, 
On him, that Paris, who first did me a wrong. 
Lay him beneath my hands, that men to come 
May fear to wrong their hosts who treat them 

fair." 
Praying so, he pois'd his shadowing spear and 

flung it, 
And smote the son of Priam in his shield, 
And thro' the glittering thing the heavy spear 
Drave, and thro' breastplate past it to the flank 
And tore his tunic; but shrinking aside. 
He escaped the darkness of death. Then Menelaos 
Drew sword and smote his helm, but on the ridge 
Shiver'd the blade in pieces three or four. 
Which fell from him: then cried he, looking up 
To Heav'n, " King Zeus, what God so harsh as 

thou? 
Now had I thought my avenging hour had come 
Upon this evil Paris; but the sword 
Shatters, the spear falls short, and he unscor'd!" 

So said, he rusht at him, and by the crest 
Caught him and swung about, and dragg'd the man 



Iliad III 79 

Towards the mailed Greeks. The dainty strap 
Tighten'd beneath his chin, the which he wore 
To hold his helmet — went near throttling him; 
But now had Menelaos got him, and won 
An endless glory, had not that child of Zeus, 
Aphrodite, been quick to mark; but she 
Broke him the thong of bull's-hide and releas'd 
The helm, and left that in the King's strong hands, 
Which he flung to the Greeks, and turn'd himself. 
Eager to slay his enemy with the spear. 
But Aphrodite, as a goddess may, 
Snatcht Paris up and hid him in a cloud, 
And in his fragrant chamber brought and laid, 
Then went to seek fair Helen; and found her 
On her high tower with women of Troy about, 
And came to her and pluckt her scented gown; 
And in the semblance of an old woman. 
Comber of wool, who used to work for her 
In Lakedaimon and had her love, she said: 
" Hither, for Paris calls thee back to house. 
Being in his chamber, laid upon his bed, 
Glowing in beauty and raiment. Who would think 
Him come from fighting his man, and not indeed 
Primed for the dance, or newly thence to rest?" 
So she, and stirr'd the heart in Helen's bosom, 
Who when she knew the goddess's sweet throat 
And lovely breasts, and saw her shining eyes, 



8o Iliad III 

Mov'd to it, spake and named her who she was — 
" Goddess, why needst thou still beguile me? Say, 
Art thou for taking me to cities new, 
To Phrygia or Maionia, that fair land, 
Wherein, maybe, dwells other of thy loves, 
For whose sake, seeing Menelaos hath Paris down 
And takes me home, accurs'd, for whose dear sake 
Craftily hither thou com'st? Nay, quit thy god- 
head. 
Sit thou with Paris, not in Heaven again 
Take up his quarrels, shield him till he choose thee 
Minion or wife. As for me, I'll not go: 
That were a shameful thing, to ply the bed 
Of such an one, and have this new reproach 
Of Trojan women on all my numberless griefs." 

Fiercely then spake her. Aphrodite the Queen: 
♦' Push not too far, thou hardy one, my wrath, 
Lest in a rage I leave thee, and my love 
Unbounded turn to hate. Then mightst thou see 
Bitterer strife 'twixt Greece and Troy, devised 
By me, and for thyself a shameful end." 

Then Helen, Child of Zeus, knew fear, and went 
Wrapt in her shining veils without a word. 
Following the goddess, no one seeing her; 
And so to Paris' fair-built house, where straight 
Handmaidens dight her. So to the lofty room 
Went the fair woman, and the laughing goddess 



Iliad III 8i 

Brought up a chair, and set her face to face 
With Paris; and there Helen sat her down, 
Child of the Aegis-Lord, and lookt athwart 
At her lord Paris, and spoke him bitter words: 

*'So, thou hast fought! Would God thou hadst 
died there. 
Slain by a better man, once lord of me ! 
It was thy boast in force of arms and spear 
To excel Menelaos, Ares' friend: 
Well, bid him again to fight thee; but I say. 
Hold thee away from him; fight thou no more 
With golden Menelaos, man to man. 
Beware of him lest his spear lay thee low." 

Then Paris answer'd her, " Reproach me not. 
Lady, with cruel words, nor wound me. Truly, 
Those two, Athena and he, have won this bout; 
Next may be my turn — we have gods for us. 
But let us two have joyance of the bed, 
Loving each other; for never yet desire 
So held me bound — not even when at first 
I ravisht thee from Sparta, thy fair land, 
And sail'd the sea with thee, and on the isle 
Kranae had joy of love, and lay with thee 
And knew thee — not even then so strong was love 
As now when longing for thee holds me fast." 

So saying, he took her, and she went with him; 
And there those two lay down in the fair bed. 

f 



82 Iliad III 

But like a beast Atreides ranged the host, 
Seeking by all means Paris; but no man, 
Trojan or ally, knew his whereabouts 
To point him out, Paris to Menelaos. 
But this is true, not for love's sake hid they 
The man he sought; for all men hated Paris 
Like death. 

So then up spake the King of Men, 
Agamemnon, "Ye Trojans and Allies, 
Dardanians, now hath Menelaos gain'd 
His battle, as it seems: so now do you 
Give Argive Helen back and all her gear. 
With ransom due, to stand in times to come." 
So said Atreides, and all the Greeks said, Yea! 



VIII 
BEFORE DAWN 

IN the even hush 
Of the dying hours, 
When night fails 
And the dawn's flush 
Shivers and stirs 
Like a new breath, 
The sea cowers 
And lieth still; 
No ripple or thrill 
Grieveth night's death. 
The bent flowers 
Submiss to the spell 
Lie in the sheath; 
Even the birds 
And grasshopper shrill 
In thicket and bush, 
On shore and hill 
Hide and peep, 
Whisper and cheep. 
Waiting the words, 
O Day, fill! 

83 



IX 
THE VEILED LOVER 

I 

OUT of vext Scythia and her holds 
Of shrill women who maim the breast 
And hide in harness the soft folds 
Of maiden limbs for war's behest, 
Theseus the Adventurer, having fought 
And ruin'd all their swift array. 
Took one, Antiope, and taught 
Love's use in some warm Attic bay; 
And tam'd that hawk to endure the hood 
And jess, and from her stormy eyes 
Drew asking looks for love's kind food — 
Which gave he till some doubtfuller prize 
Call'd him, who lov'd chase more than quarry, 
To range again, and so forget her: 
Therefore in Athens did she tarry 
A many months, where first he set her, 
And bare a man-child, like his sire 
And wilding dam adventurous, 
84 



The Veiled Lover 85 

On whom to spend her surfeit fire 
Of love. This was Hippolytus. 

But when King Theseus Phaedra took 
From Crete, that gray jewel in the sea, 
And wedded her, he might not brook 
So near his moil'd Antiope. 
By night he hasten'd her away 
With babe and cot and household gear 
To Acharnae, little deme that lay 
Remote, and there beneath the sheer 
Of Parnes, in a rock-bound nest 
The mother in her made her wise, 
Soften'd the lines of brow and breast. 
And with mild patience gloss'd her eyes, 
So that she grew a matron staid 
From Amazon, and the boy her son 
Guess'd not her service of that Maid 
Who to her tribe was God alone — 
The Tauric Maid who flies by night, 
Smiling as cruelly as she slays. 
Who claim'd Mykenae's child by right 
And serv'd him seed of bitter days. 
No, but he thought her only kind, 
Saw her the guardian of his feet. 
And scorning, pitied; thought her blind 
To half of life, her blindness sweet, 
Who at the door would spin white yarn 



86 The Veiled Lover 

While he with playmates tumbled and strove, 
Or while he slept made haste to darn 
His clouts: so royal is children's love! 
Mother's love not so; whose rare joy 
Is blurr'd beforehand, lest that page 
So white be dimm'd, and what the boy 
Bids fair shall fail her heart's presage. 
And she be riven for that fault. 

Therefore Antiope her old lore 
Call'd up, to run, to leap, to vault 
Astride the great stud foals, to score 
The target with black arrows, string 
The bow and, having strung to draw 
And down the heron on the wing. 
These things she taught him, and the law 
In whose way must the hunter stand 
Master of man and beast — hold cheap 
Flesh, that the spirit may command 
All flesh, and master it. Yet to weep 
She taught him first, for that is brave: 
Who cannot weep 's not man but beast; 
Pity alone gives joy to save. 
And reverence bendeth to the least 
As to the highest. Then she taught 
Her Godcraft, all that she had learn'd 
By patience to make clean her thought. 
She lit his torch from what she burn'd, 



The Veiled Lover 87 

Show'd him the glory of land and sea, 

Terror and beauty, all their moods 

From silver sleep to golden glee; 

Heeded the dark, the wind in the woods, 

Storm's panoply when Zeus enshrouds 

In purple, and his flame of wrath 

Jags up the sky; next in the clouds 

That hide the hills declar'd his path; 

And vow'd him all things goodly and great — 

If great, then good, fair, best of all; 

So stablisht him and beg'd that Fate 

Shmild heed him and not let him fall. 

Yet sore she dreaded lest that hard 

Queen she had serv'd should cast bold eyes, 

Fen-fires to lure and then discard 

The wayfarer, on this her prize 

And pledge and utmost. 

Now it prov'd 
That growing stripling from a child. 
Askance amid his comrades rov'd 
Hippolytus, and sought the wild, 
To be alone with what was there 
Unseen, unheard, unknown, but guess'd. 
The thronging tenants of the air, 
Of wood and water, ridge and waste. 
Sea-shores, the nation of the birds, 
Fern-mantled Fames, the wide fells 



88 The Veiled Lover 

Where browse the deer in twinkling herds, 

The fens where deep the wild-boar dwells, 

The emptiness and silent night 

Of the forest — here he went all day, 

Here wander'd lonely in twilight. 

And what could she but watch and pray 

While he stay'd out the sable dark 

He meet not under the eyeing stars 

Night's vice-reine, the Huntress stark, 

The Smiler who loves blood and scars? 

Buoyant he'd come back, with the light 

Filling his eyes, but lips discreet; 

She knew not surely how his night 

Had sped while she pray'd for his feet. 

But fear'd the more the less he told, 

And shrank to test what she did fear. 

And saw him forth, eager and bold, 

Tortur'd, and watcht him eye and ear, 

Offering him up to any God 

Of rite less cruel than Artemis, 

The Scythian of the bloody rod 

And sickle-knife — to aught but this. 

II 

Midway up Parnes climbs a track 
By laurels hemm'd and shafted pines 
Which shut the sun and steep in black 



The Veiled Lover 89 

Shadow and dew and gossamer'd bines 
The path and all. Hereby moss-grown 
A temple stood, deeply in shade 
And lichen'd over tile and stone, 
And ferny. Not a prayer was said 
Now in that precincfl, nor was fire 
Lit there, nor vicflim ever drest, 
Heifer or ram; no thin blue spire 
Lifted to heaven, to find a rest 
In deeper azure. Foot of man 
Trod never there, but on the floor 
Pine needles lay, the squirrels ran 
From plinth to beam, deer sniff'd the door 
Or cropt the arbutus that trail'd 
Over the cornice; and above 
Nor kite nor broad-wing'd vulture sailed 
Eyeing the altar; but the dove 
Croon'd there her song of homely ease 
All day. The God had gone; his house 
Become a haunt of sleep and peace. 
Gave back their dues to bat and mouse. 
Hither the youth, what time he went 
Wand'ring, to seek he knew not what. 
Came, and found ease and solacement 
In the piety by men forgot, 
Done once when men and Gods were sib 
As new from the womb of Gods and men 



go The Veiled Lover 

Alike; for as woman from man's rib, 

So from Dame Gaia came they in. 

And poring on the letters rude 

Crusted and dimm'd upon that shrine, 

He wonder'd what God of Green Wood, 

Priapus, Pan, or Proserpine 

Touching her mother's breast, had gaz'd 

Thence out of sightless marble eyes. 

Or smil'd with frozen lips when prais'd, 

Or lent cold ears to mortal sighs; 

And deem'd some rarer spirit wonn'd 

With shyer looks for populous earth, 

A maid, yet lovelier, and beyond 

All maids who won death with their birth — 

Maid, since maid's tremor should be hers, 

The rapture earth knows at spring's flush, 

The awe, as when the upland firs 

Stand bridal-veil'd in frost's great hush. 

Eager she'd be, as when the wind 

Wins blithe the outposts of the hills, 

And free, yet gentle and most kind, 

As Autumn lulls before it kills, 

With soft hands and cool wistful breath: 

So, reason'd he, a Goddess goes 

With life acquaint and eke with death. 

Knowing death and life are none such foes. 

And thinking long, he stood and pray'd 



The Veiled Lover gi 

And strained his arms in that still place 

Where trees sigh'd music which he made 

Deeply within — to see the face 

Of that hid God, and nurse the flame 

On that cold hearth, and sing him psalms 

Till the wood was vocal with his name 

And stirr'd to life its breathless calms. 

So died one long hot afternoon 
And things were darken'd and the sky 
All chrysoprase, and the new moon 
Peer'd outward temperate and shy; 
And no bird wak'd the woodland, save 
That one resilient piping thrush 
Sounded for Vespers, peaceful, brave, 
Making more holy all the hush — 
In that charm'd hour a shape of gray 
Stole through the shafted pines, which held 
A torch, and turn'd her face away 
As tho' she fear'd to be sentinel'd 
By temple watchers. Then she past 
Therein, as going there by rote 
Sway'd by some innate power, in haste, 
With quick blind hands and throbbing throat; 
Swept clean the stone of litter and weed 
And eyed it, dreaming; and next tried 
To rid of moss the sacred screed 
That broider'd it from side to side. 



92 The Veiled Lover 

But all unus'd her slender fingers 
To such work; she gave o'er the task, 
Yet, as who longs but dares not, lingers 
And looks, as seeking whom to ask, 
So loiter'd this ghost with her sad 
And hopeless gaze; at last she sigh'd 
And drawing close the robe she had, 
Stole forth into the dark wood-ride. 

Watching stood he, and saw her fade, 
Then shut his eyes, so to enfold 
The lovely image that she made 
Of all the sorrow this world could hold: 
A slim, fair lady like a wraith, 
With a sad face, as though she knew 
All griefs of men, love, early death, 
And walkt expe(5\ing of more rue 
And ever more till the race be run 
Of them and theirs, and the dear earth 
Fall silent. Thus she seemed, and the sun 
Could show him nothing better worth 
His passion while his life endure. 

Ill 

Straight, as one set and dedicate 
To the service, he made sweet and pure 
The shrine and altar, and did plait 
Long wreaths to deck it, and a fire 



The Veiled Lover 93 

Thereon he laid, and home return'd 
For food, well knowing he could not tire 
Until the holy offering burn'd 
To that sweet Lady, and going he cried 
The stars for witness of his love 
Thro' life to death. To her, " O bride," 
Said he, " Mak'st thou no matter of 
This, that a man loves, with no heed 
Of love again ? I'll thrill thy heart 
With worship, sacrifice, and brede 
Of words. Nay, Goddess as thou art, 
Thou'rt woman too, and sure am I 
So to enhance thee and make glad 
Thine eyes, and to thy mansion high 
Waft savour and music. Be not sad 
For ever, seeing thou hast on earth 
One faithful lover, and one shrine 
Tended, one watcher by the hearth 
To feed thy flame." 

With oil and wine. 
Honey and meal, rare ambergris. 
Resin, he came back on light feet, 
And hymn'd at dawn Queen Artemis, 
Tho' her he did not know to greet; 
But ween'd he serv'd the sad, pale queen 
Of Hell, whose mother half the year 
Must mourn, and he who did the teen 



The Veiled Lover 

The other half shall lack his cheer: 
Yet all pure song at dawn of day 
Is Hymnia's, who heareth but the pure. 
So rose the smoke, and all the gray 
East broke in fire; then being sure, 
He strew'd the barley and pour'd out 
The wine, and having laid his cake 
Of meal upon the stone, he lout 
On knee, and in the deep woodbrake 
Sought rest. Thus morn and eve did he 
A many moons, and saw days turn 
From summer to the chill and dree 
Of autumn when the woodlands burn 
To crimson death, and the pale sky 
Looks far away seen thro' the mist 
Wherein Earth passions and falls to die. 

So serving, came his high acquist, 
She visibly there within the place 
Made sweet by his pains. A cloak of blue, 
Like night, hid up her form; her face 
Was like the moon's when she rides thro' 
The press of stars, and looks askance 
At their warm commerce. To her chin 
She held the hem; downward her glance 
Upon him kneeling in lowly pin, 
Too wonderful to be afraid, 
Too deep in love to deem her lover. 



The Veiled Lover 95 

So each faced each, while his heart made 
Mad music. Then she did uncover 
Her graciousness, and her blest form 
Gray-clad was his for reverence 
And adoration, quick and warm. 
Most tender woman to the sense, 
Yet san(5lified by that which says 
Touch not, nor handle, lest my heart 
Betray me, as the sense betrays 
That taking solace, leaves a smart. 

Her brow was broad and very pure 
Wherefrom the ripples of her hair 
Ran back as waves which, borne ashore, 
Are blown by kissing wind from there; 
Her eyes were calm as when dawn comes 
After a storm, and deeply blue, 
Steadfast, far-gazing, yet the homes 
Of knowledge; thence her soul lookt thro' 
To his own, as if she weigh'd its worth 
Against the eternal. Nought said she. 
Nor spake he in that hour of mirth 
Of love that riseth wing'd and free, 
Needing no service of the sense. 
Paying no tribute. The love of each 
Wedded the other's in that tense 
Long look whose cry transcended speech. 
.... He arose her lover by that adl 



g6 The Veiled Lover 

Commixt with her, and went his ways 
To house, nor any observance lackt 
To household Gods; nor when his days 
Of wilding ended, and he went 
To serve his father and endure 
The brawl of Athens, made lament 
For his sweet secret, but kept pure 
And to his faith stood fast to death; 
And ended as he had begun. 
With her conjoint, as the tale saith 
In a deep wood shut from the sun. 



X 
IN THE FOREST 

DEEP in the forest, where a glade 
Holds the glad hum of afternoon, 
And gives a chequered maze of shade 
After the stroke and heavy swoon 
Pan lays upon the world is done, 
And all the creatures sleep and dream 
Of hiving business in the sun — 
There the man-beast of darting eye 
And mottled pelt lies half agleam 
And half beshadowed, spiring high 
His fitful music of the reed, 
Wailing lifts and moaning falls. 
Far and sudden intervals. 
With many a quavering long-held note, 
Such as may thrill in a bird's throat 
And cry his wistfulness and need 
Thro' the lone wood. O lithe and fine 
And supple body, man and goat! 
Part rutting beast and part divine, 
And all a youth in bud who feels 
g 



gS In the Forest 

Unwonted blood like stinging wine 

Now throb in his veins, now drug his heels, 

And beckon to lie, and stretch, and turn, 

And feel the faint, the itch, the burn 

Of what he knows not, only this, 

The passion beats, the languor steals, 

And smarting is sweet, and aching bliss. 

Even as the dreamer, his dream is — 
The Gods inspire, the Gods fulfil! 
Like moths of fitful wavering flight 
Slim maidens come to ply their will: 
Dryads or Oreads of the hill 
In reedy vesture blue and white, 
Like gossamer that, wet with dew. 
Shrouds the gorse in morning light; 
With rosy feet and braided hair 
And girdled bosoms, and that still 
And spacious gait that maidens wear 
When no man sees what they may do; 
One by one, in order due. 
Speechless, unminstrel'd, without heed 
Or thought but of their pastime fair; 
One by one with linked hands 
And faces turn'd for each to read 
In each what each one understands 
But cannot tell except by look, 



In the Forest gg 

They stay beside the glancing brook, 
And in the open glade they lead 
The lightfoot chorus ; and one stands 
Apart and sheds her bosom's veil 
And weaves alone her happy dance, 
Winding her scarf that it may trail 
After her footprints. . . . 

He askance 
Keeps on their play his wary eye, 
Lengthening, crouching lest they catch 
Gleam on his hide. Slow draws his greed 
Within him to a boiling head; 
His lust burns till his tongue is dry — 
To leap, to scatter, then to snatch 
That lone adventurer. Like an ounce, 
Prone on his belly he keeps watch. 
With toes agrip of earth; one thin 
Tense cord he makes, rippling to pounce: 
So from his heels to his fierce face 
All beast of prey, he couches. Then 
Doubt takes him, and he dreams again. 
And rises to his manhood's grace, 
Stealing a-tiptoe from his lair 
As solemn as a priest new-frockt 
To stand among them. All astare. 
Arrested in the attitude 
Of sidelong head, hands interlockt. 



100 In the Forest 

As frozen in their dancing mood, 
With straightened arms and lips apart 
They wait the upshot. He, aware 
Of their still beauty, stands afraid 
And doubtful. In a flash the wood 
Is emptied of them and their light. 

He peers, he noses, snuffs the air, 
Searches for sign in bruised blade 
Of grass or frond of fern — lo there! 
The veil abandon'd in her flight. 
Like scarf of cloud or filmy shade 
Cast by thin branches in the night 
Across the moon. He falls to it 
And leans his cheek to its warm length, 
And rolls and revels in the scent 
And balm it holds; but soon the fit 
Passes, and leaves him close to sit 
With hands to shinbones, and head bent 
To furry knees, while all the strength 
And grace of her sings in the glade. 
Full of desire and full of fears 
Lest other creature need as he. 
He broods upon his prey, then hears 
Some little rustling in the brake. 
And lifts it very tenderly 
As though a sleeping child he bears; 



In the Forest loi 

And swift to harbour doth betake 
Him and his gossamer, sets it down 
Upon his leafy couch, and holds 
His breath, as fearful she should wake; 
And leans to her, and closer yet 
Leans, urging to her, quick enfolds. 
Then covers— back he draws in dread 
Of something holy, and instead 
Stoops delicately and lays a kiss 
Upon the billowing gauzy net. 
And lies beside, and leans his head 
Until his cheek may feel the bliss 
That once it had, her bosom's bed; 
And sleeps as dreamless as the dead; 
And waking, wonders what this is, 
So thin, so draggled, and so wet. 



XI 
DAPHNE AND LEUKIPPOS 

DAPHNE lov'd none, of all maids most retir'd. 
And yet Leukippos lov'd her, who long days 
Sought her, and found of all maids most desir'd, 
Yet least accessible by wooers' ways. 

For she was of that votive company 
That serves the Virgin Lady of the wild: 

Apart they roam, heart-whole and fancy-free, 
Following the starry wake of Leto's Child. 

Withal he lov'd, and loving her in vain, 

Forswore his kind and wander'd in the woods, 

Thinking perhaps to ease his crying pain 
In their green leisure and husht solitudes. 

And straying there, or lying in the brake, 

Reading his sad heart or the lone bird's song 

That all night through biddeth her sorrow wake, 
His love grew stronger as his hair grew long. 

102 



Daphne and Leukippos 103 

So thirsting, when one day he stoopt to drink 
In the clear mirror of a woodland pool 

All his lovelocks came tumbling o'er the brink, 
And ere his lips could touch the well was full. 

Whereat, seeing the golden mesh outspread 
Over the crystal surface of the tank, 

He laught and shook it back behind his head. 
And coil'd it up and held it while he drank. 

Then looking sideways at his render'd face, 
At his clean nape and modish-twisted knot. 

Laughing again, he blusht at his own grace. 
And lookt the longer as his cheeks grew hot. 

" A very girl," cried he, " I am to view! 

Now might I won with Daphne and her peers, 
And see and touch my sweet the long day thro', 

And watch her dainty fancy as it veers 

*' From maid to maid for what she cannot get 
From any maid at all, to be made woman; 

But I have wherewithal to ease her fret, 
When she have prov'd her true mate to be true 
man." 

He bound his tresses up with scarf and pin. 
He donn'd the chiton and the crocus vest, 



104 Daphne and Leukippos 

He pluckt a hair or two from out his chin, 
And crost the girdle midway of his breast. 

Then stood he forth to sight a very maiden, 
And waxing bold, secure in his disguise, 

Sought out his Daphne by the banks of Ladon, 
And faced the clear truth of her serious eyes; 

And told his fib by Ladon's glancing water. 
And saw it bite, and thought it not amiss: 

"Lady, I am Oenomaos's daughter," 

He said, " and vow'd like you to Artemis. 

" If you will make me of your joyous band 
I serve with you, if not I serve alone." 

Then straight-brow'd Daphne took him by the 
hand. 
Seeing an honest daughter in sly son. 

And well he sped if all may be believ'd. 

Save when some boldness native to his sex, 

Like fire hid up in ash, by the wind griev'd, 
Flasht from him, her to please and him to vex. 

For as she laught to see him play the boy 
So must he bite his lip and hang his head. 

Until it seem'd the seeker was the coy 
And the besought the seeker in his stead. 



Daphne and Leukippos 105 

And hence came his undoing. As they lay 

Together idling on the grassy bank 
Of Ladon, it was Daphne made the play 

And lifted high his hopes — until they sank 

To nothingness, and ruin star'd at him; 

For thus said she: " For all you are so bold, 
I challenge you with me to strip and swim 

The river. And I lay my ring of gold 

" That I am first, against your golden chain. 

Come, I am for you ! " Whereat she slipt the lace 
Upon her shoulder, and the brooches twain 

That kept her virgin girdle in its place. 

Like shafted poplar-stems when light is dim 
Were her fair members naked for the test; 

Lithe as a leopard, white as moonlight, slim 
As ivory wand, in water to the breast, 

She chafed to find him slow, and cried him fool 
To sit there glum with face all pincht and gray; 

Then scornful of him, plunged into the pool. 
With a hoarse cry Leukippos fled away. 

And what ensued, and how he paid his cheat 
It matters little, where the worse to fall 



io6 Daphne and Leukippos 

Must be the better. He is fairly beat 
Who dare not risk, ' to win or lose it all.' 

They say suspicion reacht her by a swallow 
That swept his skirting curve close by her ear; 

They say indeed the bird's shape held Apollo 
For reasons of his own. He had her dear, 

And knew no cause to love the daring youth, 
Who yet dar'd not enough, or dar'd be good 

Even at the last. I have not all the truth; 
But this is true, Leukippos took to the wood, 

And went in fear of Daphne's flaming mistress 
In whom white anger burns like midnight frost; 

And if she slew him, count this lover's distress 
Rather that Daphne than his life he lost. 



XII 
PARALLELS 

WHENE'ER I see your glancing feet 
I hear a bird sing in the street; 
Or if I hear your proud clear tone 
I see a mountain torrent run 
Sinuous and glad to watersmeet. 

When you are coming all the trees 
Quiver and rustle in the breeze, 
Which like a herald runs before 
To call the liegemen to the door, 
Crying your shining qualities. 

When you have left me half an hour 
The sun still glows behind the shower, 
And thro' the rain I see the bow, 
Still smell the cowslips on the brow. 
And know the beanfield still in flower. 

Each sigh of you is like a wave 
On a warm shore, wherein I lave; 
107 



io8 Parallels 

And every vagrance of your hair 
Wafts me the lift of some sweet air 
Heard as I pass, a wandering stave. 

Your quiet speech to me it is 

A silver coin, with Artemis 

Or Ligeia grav'd thereon. 

Rarely you laugh, and that 's the sun 

Flooding the day with auguries. 

The motions of your thin sweet hand 
Are Gabriel with his lily- wand; 
The holy converse of your eyes. 
It is the moment when light dies 
And a rapt silence holds the land. 

I dare not look upon your breast, 
Fearing to startle from her nest 
Some blessed bird that sits and broods 
In a deep valley fill'd with woods, 
Watcht by a skyey mountain crest. 

So you and Nature are in pacft, 
Mother and Daughter: there 's no a(5l 
Of hers but has its counterpart 
In your instru(5tion of my heart, 
Since you are music of her facft. 



XIII 

HYMNIA 

I 

BECAUSE your soul is delicate 
(Like a new moth with wings set wide), 
And, all too virgin to be bride, 
Holds up your body in stalemate; 

Because your heart is passionate 
And flame thereof consumes your side, 
So that the veil is rarefied 
To a film of flesh irradiate — 

Therefore unearthly you flit earth 
And languorously the sweet wave flows 
That laps and sheathes you, grave your mirth, 
Paler your cheek than the wild rose; 

Therefore your eyes speak what Heav'n saith, 

And leave your mouth for wonder and breath. 

109 



no Hymnia 

II 

Outward be dainty, as you are 
Within; glance by me swift and slim; 
Flash, where I walk; be staid, be prim; 
Shiver at noises, things that jar 

Your lovely order; levy war 
Upon the beastly and the grim; 
So shine apart, remote and dim, 
To foggy earth a constant star. 

Thus to the world you shall appear 
Garb'd in your crystal qualities 
As closely as the wet rocks wear 
The sand-wort of the starry eyes, 

Cause and effe(5l, both these in one. 
Witness and virtue of the sun. 



Ill 

In the hedged garden of your mind 
The gray-green sage, Perfecftion, grows. 
And Candourwort and Constant-Kind, 
And Modesty, the thornless rose. 

There are the herb, Integrity, 
And red perennial. Maiden Pride, 



Hymnia iii 

And Honour, like an almond-tree, 
And Purity aflower beside. 

Ardour, that climbs so high, is there. 
And TacTt, with shrinking outer leaves, 
And in the shade the weeper. Prayer, 
And Patience, stak'd and tied in sheaves; 

And bittersweet Love's creeping root, 
A rosy carpet underfoot. 

IV 
Sev'n swords had Mary in her side, 
A sword of Doubt if she was born 
To serve men so, a sword of Pride, 
A sword of Shame, a sword of Scorn. 

And one was driv'n by her dead Lord, 
And one by them who shed His blood; 
And if there was another sword 
It was of Love not understood. 

And you, her sister, even so 
Have swords to pierce your bountiful breast 
Doubt and Despair, the Sight of Woe, 
Love thwarted, Love that cannot rest, 

Charity held back. Love denied: 

Sev'n swords— and your arms open wide 



112 Hymnia 

V 

Count it not loss that you must give, 
Knowing your breast a sacrament 
Whereat the child must drink to live, 
Whereon sleep after in content. 

That is your soul's high testament. 
Which is a fount perennial 
Streaming from God, and never spent 
Except none drink of it at all. 

For as the milk is to the child 
That drinks, the spending is to you; 
Since by your soul's gift reconcil'd 
The seeking soul returns your due. 

And so your loss is gain indeed, 
Since you are fed by them you feed. 



XIV 
NIGHT-ERRANTRY 

THREE long breaths of the blessed night 
And I am fast asleep; 
No need to read by candle-light 
Or count a flock of sheep. 

Deep, deep I lie as any dead, 
Save my breath comes and goes; 
The holy dark is like a bed 
With violet curtains close. 

And while enfolded I lie there 
Until the dawn of day, 
My body is the prisoner. 
My soul slips out to play. 

A-tiptoe on the window-sill 

He listens like a mouse, 

The calling wind blows from the hill 

And circles round the house. 

Above the voices of the town 
It whispers in the tree, 
h 



114 Night-Errantry 

And brings the message of the Down: 
'Tis there my soul would be. 

Then while enchain 'd my body lies 
Like a dead man in grave, 
Thither on trackless feet he hies, 
On wings that make no wave. 

The dawn comes out in cold gray sark 
And finds him flitting there 
Among the creatures of the dark, 
Vixen and brock and hare. 

O wild white face that 's none of mine, 
O eager eyes unknown. 
What will you do with Proserpine, 
And what shall I, alone? 

O flying feet, O naked sides, 
O tresses flowing free, 
And are you his that all day bides 
So soberly in me? 

The sun streams up behind the hill 
And strikes the window-pane; 
The empty land lies hot and still, 
And I am I again. 

Gosberton, lo Aug. 1913. 



XV 
TO A PRETTY WOMAN 

YOU walk so choice and featly fair 
Within your flowing tell-tale gear, 
So timid-seeming, half ascare 
And half asmile at what you hear, 
Or what you know; you guide and steer 
Your dainty argosy and rare 
Through our rough traffickers, aware 
Complacently of eyes that peer. 
Of sidelong eyes, of eyes that stare. 
Of joy or trouble far or near: 
Have you no arms, no shield or spear 
For what the world at large may dare? 
Is your heart light? Your eyes are clear, 
You falter not. Have you no care? 
You bud your lips, and in your ear 
Whisper and promise, hope and pray'r 
Are as the snowflakes of last year. 
Idle, adrift upon the air. 
"5 



ii6 To a Pretty Woman 

Lady, what is your own affair, 
Suspe(fted of the pulpiteer 
Who from his gestatorial chair 
Thunders upon your dangerous tear, 
Your eye of blue or brown or vair, 
Your red and white, that lock of hair 
Arrayed in disarray, your wear 
Of silken things so frail we fear 
To touch them, so we hold you dear 
Inhabitant, whom we would spare, 
Look you, the satyr's wink and leer 
Ready to snatch you to his lair? 
Intrigued, perplext, we shift and veer 
Our looks, from worship to the glare 
Of high displeasure, chafing here 
To see you pass us debonair, 
Excusing what we commandeer. 
Ignoring what you cannot share. 
You pass, you go, and leave us bare, 
Feeling the chill, old, crabb'd and sere; 
Upon your delicate course you fare. 
Whether we kneel or scowl or jeer, 
Whether we triumph or despair. 
Smiling, possest, unfaltering, sheer 
Upon your mark, be it here or there. 
God! are you simpleton or fere? 

London. 



XVI 
SONG 

THE pure in heart shall see God, 
But what wilt thou do, 
O burning heart, but be God 
For men to fall to? 

And as for me and my heart, 
All that I see, 

It is the shrine of thy heart, 
The vase of it — thee. 



117 



XVII 
THE TWO EAGLES 

OF the shrill Gods of Fight 
I ask blood for my pen, 
And the cries of wounded men 
For music, and scurrying feet 
Of legions in wild retreat 
For the rhythm of what I write. 

I saw two eagles engage 
Down on a sandy plain 
Stone-strewn, over a slain 
Lamb, patchy with blood. 
Far away the dun flood 
Of the sea muttered its rage. 

One with his wings blown back 
And talons set, with his fierce 
Beak did ravel and pierce 
The carrion. In fury to tear, 
His wings battled the air. 
The blood coiled snaky and black. 
ii8 



The Two Eagles 119 

The other assailed the sky 
With lifted head and complaint, 
Challenge and dreariment. 
He beat his wings, and the air 
Answered his great despair. 
With moans for his havoc-cry. 

Even thus in the battle. 

The carnage, the death, the shout, 

The staring hearth and the rout 

Have their minstrel. He stands 

By and wringeth red hands. 

While his comrade springs the death-rattle. 



XVIII 
ARKADIA 

THE hills made you adventurous, 
And the hill-wind gave wings to your feet; 
I saw you, Artemis the Fleet, 
Ranging your scarr'd Taygetus. 
Your two lips parted, amorous 
Each for the wooing of the sweet 
Strong air; I saw your blue eyes greet 
Pheneus, Kyllene, Maenalus, 

As thro' lone Arcady we fared 
Which first enharbour'd Leto's child. 
I watcht you thro' the Holy Places, 
Virgin and Huntress of the wild. 
Sister and Sovran of the Graces, 
Pacing beside you with heart bared. 



120 



XIX 
DELOS 

THE Etesian wind that clouds the seas 
To purple had you safe at last 
Under the shadow Delos cast 
About the girdling Cyclades. 
I thought you usher'd by the breeze, 
I thought the sentinel islands past 
The word about. I stood spellfast, 
Watching you at your mysteries, 

You and your isle. No crooked knees, 
No chant of the ecclesiast. 
No panting, no unquiet breast: 
Hellenic rite, still ecstasies! 
You walkt as he that holds the Cup 
Between his hands. I knelt to sup. 



121 



XX 

A CATCH 

YOUR duty to beauty is to wear it, not spare it, 
That all who recall who it was that did wear it 
May image your passion, and share it. 



122 



XXI 
WORLDLINGS 

THIS life it is a flash in a pan, 
Make what you may of it ; 
A spark from a smithy fan, 
Years and a day of it: 
Out of the dark into the dark, 
That is the way of it. 

Hard, when we 've learned to play, 

Picked up the knack of it! 

Well, let it go its way, 

I've had my whack of it. 

Lift your head, watch and wait 

Doom and the crack of it. 

Fly, spark, fly! 

Nay, love vie long. 

But they say we must die? 

I sing my song. 

Lie close, let me feel your heart 

Make mine strong. 

123 



124 Worldlings 

Heart of mine, heart of mine, 
What is to come of it? 
All this good sop in wine, 
The juice and crumb of it! 
Lift the cup and drink with me, 
There 's still some of it. 



XXII 
TO THE POET LAUREATE 

NOT clamour nor the buzzing of the crowd. 
Bridges, beset the lonely way you took: 
The mountain-path, the laurel-shelter'd nook, 
The upland peak earth-hidden in a cloud, 
The skyey places — here your spirit proud 
Could meet its peers, the lowland rout forsook; 
Here were your palimpsest and singing-book. 
Here scope and silence, singing-robe and shroud. 

Let England learn of thee her ancient way 
Long time forgot; the glory of the swift 
Is swiftness, not acclaim, and to the strong 
The joy of battle battle's meed. Thy song 
Will call no clearer, nor less surely lift 
Our hearts to Beauty for thy crown of bay. 

17 July. »9i3- 



125 



XXIII 
25 FEBRUARY 1897 

ALL night we watcht, although he seem'd 
asleep; 
Then as the morning gray 
Came sighing in we saw his haunted eyes 
Open, which seem'd to pray 
Only the grace to die. He saw the light, 
Then turn'd his head away. 
As if his heart fainted to meet the day. 

So as he lay we watcht, and heard his moan 
Quaver towards the skies: 

" Ah, God ! " it said, " wilt thou not set me free ? 
Have I not earn'd this prize? 
Not toil'd enough, been strenuous, kept the faith 
I took? Ah, God, my eyes 

Are worn with watching: seal them now 
requiem-wise." 

Dumb anguish held us, unarm'd witnesses 
About that lonely bed 

126 



25 February 1897 127 

Where the spent soul and body fought their fight, 

And day with feet of lead 

Crept on her hopeless round. Mercy at last 

Came, and it seem'd she said, 

" Lo, it is finisht." He bow'd his patient head. 

Take your last look on whom you lov'd, and see 
How very gently death 

Has toucht his eyes and smooth'd out all his scars, 
And crown'd as with a wreath 
Of snow his rested brows. Look at his lips: 
It is as though a breath 

Whisper'd through them: " I am at peace," he 
saith. 

Come away now, we have no more to do; 

The world, that took no thought 

Of him, is not so much with us that we 

Should forget how he fought, 

Or what he won of honour and long love 

Where such cannot be bought. 

Let us leave him facing the Truth he sought. 

What though they say, His deeds are writ in 

sand — 
Have we not read them there? 
Have we not stored them in our heart of hearts, 
Not seen that they were fair? 



128 25 February 1897 

Not ponder'd and not wonder'd, not been glad 
That they were as they were, 
And we could read? Enough! Give thanks and 
prayer. 

Addington. 



XXIV 
WAR RIMES 

I. A SHORT HISTORY OF MAN 

SOME years ago, it may have been a million — 
'Twas thereabouts, as everyone allows — 
The first man, Adam, pight the first pavilion 
And roofed it rustically with green boughs. 
He built it for himself and his new spouse 
In a fair ground, which can't have been a chilly one, 
Seeing that they fix the site in Mesopotamy, 
Where you need wear no clothes, ever- if you've 
got any. 

Godmadethisworldforman, His jewel andminion, 
His latest work, the apple of His eye. 
Not only over pad and fin and pinion 
Had he the kinch, but surer mastery 
Was put into his hands to hold it by; 
For over himself the Lord gave him dominion: 
Not only had he five wits, but the Poet 
Declares he could make use of them, and know it. 

i 



130 War Rimes 

Passions he had, and means to keep them under 
Or let them go, seeing a Will was his. 
And Understanding, and a trick of wonder, 
To shape the Is-not like to that which is. 
Hence come idealistic fallacies. 
Megalomania, and many a blunder 
Wherein the sick world yet must groan and travail, 
Waiting a clue the labyrinth to unravel. 

All this made good, the Lord of Heaven addressed 
Man, and said in effect, O sublimation 
Of Our pure thought, here is the very best 
That We can do for you. Our last creation. 
Above the beasts, yet you can choose your station 
Below them; or if Heaven be the crest 
Of your desire, earn it! You can partake of it; 
It's in your hands: let's see what you can make 
of it. 

This world is yours if you know how to use it: 
Call upon Us in trouble, We shall hear. 
Although We have the power. We may refuse it; 
We do not undertake to interfere. 
From time to time We'll send a prophet here 
With an Evangel for you if you choose it. 
Well, We shall see ! We judge that, if We try him, 
You'll either ignore him or you'll crucify him. 



War Rimes 131 

The Lord departed. Man increased and spread 
Over the earth, and soon found out a means 
Of dominating nature. His wives bred, 
His sons married his daughters in their teens. 
But this soon brought about domestic scenes 
And was tabooed. Cousins then cousins wed, 
And all went fairly well till Cain drew knife 
Upon his brother and robbed him of his life. 

Abel stood well with God, or said he did. 
And Cain not so, or thought that he did not. 
All would be well with him, he thought, once rid 
Of one psalm-singing rascal. He grew hot. 
He ought to have remembered, but forgot 
That all 's not covered with the coffin-lid. 
In that red rage of his he set the fashion 
Of easing by bloodshed tumultuous passion. 

Men took it up, and whereso'er they settled 
Upon the face of th' inhabitable earth 
There was no tribe of them but, being nettled 
By any hint or sight of neighbour's worth, 
Immediately must strangle it at birth 
By fire or sword. They said they were high- 
mettled, 
And aviour propre could not brook to view 
A nation prosper more than theirs could do. 



132 War Rimes 

So they learned hatred early, and they learned 
That tribal hate is strongest hate of all. 
Was a tribe rich, straight all the others burned 
Not for its wealth so much as its downfall. 
Young men were bred up in the way to call 
This kind of hatred love. Their bowels yearned 
To prove all men were brothers and at one 
By killing everybody's but their own. 

The tribes made war — defence or brigandage, 
All made it. But no single tribe could guess 
That if the beaten suffered from the rage 
Of the conqueror, himself suffered no less. 
For he was grudged, and hardly could possess 
His new domains, or leave a heritage 
To his successor with the least security 
That he could hope to keep it in futurity. 

The Lord had not provided in His plan 
For that which quickly proved to be the way. 
That man should use his wit to outwit man, 
To pound him, to entice him or betray. 
He had not thought that brother men would play 
At Cat and Mouse or Catch-as-catch-who-can. 
He gave all men this earth to make the best of it, 
And found each took as much as he could wrest 
of it. 



War Rimes 133 

Yet they had other crafts beside warfare, 
For they had love and all that love implies; 
And art they had, the which has little care 
Whether another man be rich or wise. 
Commerce they had; they could philosophize, 
And prove you what a very small affair 
This life was, and how very much depended 
On what they thought might happen when it 
ended. 

But they had one craft which they put above 
All others, and made learning, land, or pelf 
The test of it; while as for art and love. 
They put those by, like physic on a shelf 
For case of need. That craft was care of Self, 
Its end was Profit, and its maxim Shove; 
And its one rule to drive into perdition 
Whatever seemed to thwart a man's ambition. 

Philosophers engrost their rivals' lore 
Or libelled them of commercing with witches; 
A landed man by all means must have more, 
A moneyed man conveyed his neighbour's riches 
By tricks into the pockets of his breeches, 
And fastened those up like a chapel door 
From Monday until Saturday, then emptied 
Into the Bank before he could be tempted 



134 War Rimes 

To tenderness of conscience most unthrifty. 
But he had lawyers now to assure possession, 
And call due process what was first called shifty, 
Making chicane a dignified profession. 
'Twas held that twenty thieves in public session 
Might be a Body Corporate, and fifty 
A National Assembly, and their tricks 
The reasonable pursuit of politics. 

And more men multiplied, and more they spread. 
The more they sought to drive their neighbours 

back. 
The earth, which God made green, was dyed 

with red 
Which mixing made a gray, inclined to black. 
It looked as if some fulgurous chimney-stack 
Had smothered up the blue sky overhead; 
So when the rain fell down in God's good time, 
Its wholesomeness was soured by man's bad 

grime. 

Soon there arose strong men by no means pious 
Who found it easy to become commander 
Of others not so strong. There were Darius, 
Nebuchadnezzar, Sennacherib, Alexander, 
Whose simple need was to be more or grander 
Than any king on earth. With this plain bias 



War Rimes 135 

They led their hosts to war, and what they needed 
They got — until the next strong man succeeded. 

Hist'ry deals more with these empurpled sinners 
Than with the daring ones who tried to down them. 
It leaves the cooks for the eaters of the dinners, 
Looks to the kings, ignores the folk who crown 

them. 
Take horses, not the stockbrokers who own them, 
Say ha'p'ny newspapers a-spotting winners! 
This history sees the plain men on our planet 
No better off than when God first began it. 

Whose fault is that? Not God's. You dare not 

blame Him 
For having given you wits which you've perverted. 
He sent a Messenger — I need not name Him — 
To whom most of us owned to be converted. 
I know not how or when his host deserted. 
Or what it was decided men to shame Him. 
He said the Meek and Peacemakers were blissful. 
We see no blessings but for the successful. 

We say. The best man wins; but what by that 
We mean exacftly is to be arreded. 
Let us define the thing we are getting at: 
We certainly don't mean the same as He did. 



136 War Rimes 

And as for him for whom his Master pleaded, 
He very often don't win here — that's flat. 
What would he get who turned the other cheek 
But be laughed into the middle of next week? 

But there were other Gospels. Con-fu-tze's 
Was one. Another came from Prince Gautama, 
Which flew north-eastward on a scented breeze 
From Singapore to sea-board Yokohama. 
Another ended in a harrowing drama. 
When they brought hemlock in to Socrates, 
And he, as one who sees what an escape he has. 
Bid sacrifice a cock to iEsculapius. 

One burden each one's message underlay: 
Nothing endures; this world is like an inn. 
Take what you need, not long have you to stay; 
The only thing worth having is within. 
That stands when all the rest is worn down thin, 
Emperors and the Empires they betray. 
And why the snows of yester-year deplore? 
Where are the conquests of the year before ? 

You would have thought such things the merest 

platitude. 
Seeing that the land lies here, while we must 

leave it: 



War Rimes 137 

You would have hoped more reasonable attitude 
Whether we hail the end with joy or grieve it. 
The odd thing is that still we don't believe it, 
Or acfl as if we only should have latitude 
To enter the next life as men of property, 
The only ones whose goods are not in jeopardy. 

No, no! We still drive free men out like cattle, 
We still catch them with pressgang and the crimp ; 
We still wreck pastures with our filthy battle 
Or tangle them with coils of barbed gimp. 
Though Caesar, Philip, and Napoleon Imp. 
Were played to grave with groaning and death- 
rattle, 
We still believe a man may be War-Lord, 
And still submit our quarrels to a sword. 

You, Sir, put up of late to play the beast 
And teach your decent Germans how to hate — 
Look lest your walls serve you Belshazzar's feast 
And score a title you don't meditate. 
Emperors without an Empire are not great, 
And there 's a day when greatest may be least. 
What do you think of this for epitaph : 
IVi^k this man eveti Satan cared not laugh? 

For look. This was a man who taught his sons 
To lie and thieve, and had no wiser thought 



138 War Rimes 

Than stand men up as fodder for the guns 
Of them who had to fight because he fought. 
He found a peaceful land, left it distraught, 
Found happy folk and left unhappy ones: 
Most arrogant of men, he lived to rue it. 
Because he was the wretchedest — and knew it. 

If mankind ever of itself shake free, 

And man disdain another to degrade 

To work his infamous purpose, that his fee 

Be doubled and his vileness not betrayed, 

It will regard the bloody work you made 

As crown and ensign of your misery, 

And men will pity you and say, This wretch 

Was made a rogue lest other rogues might stretch. 

They set you trading truth as merchandise ; 
They set you murdering children and their 

mothers; 
They turned your foolish hands to such red vice 
That men could say Herod and you were brothers. 
They bid you brand your good name as that 

other's 
Is staring still with terror, blood, and lies. 
Judas betrayed his Lord for pieces thirty. 
And Krupp goes rich and clean — since you go 

dirty. 



War Rimes 139 

Where can the world find you a sorrier thing 
Than monarch playing catspaw to a rascal? 
If kingship 's come to this, then has a king 
A business on his hands which well might task all 
The casuists left in Christendom. What Paschal 
Atonement meets a sin so grovelling? 
God sent His Son to cleanse a world o'erweening, 
But your name now doesn't seem worth the 
cleaning. 



140 War Rimes 



II. FOR TWO VOICES 

O MOTHER, mother, isn't it fun, 
The soldiers marching past in the sun! 
"Child, child, what are you saying? 
Come to church. We should be praying." 

" Look, mother, at their bright spears! " 
'• The leaves are falling like women's tears." 

" You are not looking at what I see." 
" Nay, but I look at what must be." 

" Hark to the pipes! See the flags flying! " 
" I hear the sound of a girl crying." 

" How many hundreds before they are done! " 
*' How many mothers wanting a son ! " 

*' Here rides the general pacing slow! " 
" Well he may, if he knows what I know." 

" O this war, what a glorious game! " 
" Sin and shame, sin and shame." 



War Rimes 141 



III. THE EMPEROR OF ALMAIN 

THE Emperor of Almain 
Went rocking out to fight, 
The thunder of his legions 
Was heard across the night. 

There stood a charter'd nation 
Upon his road to France, 
But Pooh! says he, What 's treaties? 
And order'd the advance. 

The Belgian he says, Easy! 
And holds him up a spell. 
Treachery! cries the Emperor, 
" This people is from hell. 

" You cannot treat this people 
As men of common measure, 
Who smite the friendly German 
A-taking of his pleasure. 

" You cannot fight this people — 
How can you fight with clowns? 
But you can burn their houses 
And sack their ancient towns; 



142 War Rimes 

♦'And you can shoot their old men, 
And do their women shame 
For facing of an Emperor 
And spoiling of his game. 

" And if you meet civilians, 
Don't let your natural ire 
Inflame you. Set them forward 
Upon the line of fire. 

" Then they're in this dilemma. 
That if they shoot they kill 
Their own, and if they don't shoot 
I work my Imperial Will." 

Now when he got thro' Belgium 
And enter'd pleasant France, 
He found an English army 
Opposing his advance. 

The Emperor of Almain 
He swore like one possest. 
Says he, " Remember Louvain, 
And rid me of this pest. 

" Whate'er you do with Frenchmen, 
The English you shall slay, 
For they should be my henchmen 
Instead of in my way. 



War Rimes 143 

'• If they had half the culture 
That other Saxons have 
They'd know that God has purpos'd 
Germania rule the wave." 

We fought him up to Paris 
And pusht him back again; 
He dug himself in trenches 
Above the banks of Aisne. 

And there he got the toothache 
As common people may, 
And had to see his Germans 
Be slain instead of slay. 

But he saw likely plunder, 

A great church made of dreams 

In stone, a thing of wonder. 

The fair- wrought Church of Rheims; 

At which he plugg'd and batter'd 
Till all in fire and smoke 
It shockt the sky, and shatter'd, 
The roof sagg'd in and broke. 

The world cried out upon him, 
But culture soon miscarries 
When a man has the toothache 
And cannot get to Paris. 



144 War Rimes 

And when a man is worried 
His wits are not at call. 
He fired the church, supposing 
It was a hospital. 

And so it was, for in it 

His wounded soldiers lay 

Till honest Frenchmen bore them 

Out of the shrapnel's way. 

The Germans went on shelling. 
With glasses on the fun, 
And one another 's telling, 
" See how those beggars run ! " 

And so he eased his toothache, 
The Emperor of Almain; 
And proud should be his do(5tors, 
Rheims, Dinant and Louvain. 

But he must get a many 
Before his war is done, 
And even might have heartache 
If he possesses one. 



War Rimes 145 



IV. A SINGSONG OF ENGLAND 

O ENGLAND is an island, 
The fairest ever seen; 
They say men come to England 
To learn that grass is green. 
And Englishmen are now at war, 
All for this, they say, 
That they are free, and other men 
Must be as free as they. 

The Englishmen are shepherds, 
They plough, they sow and reap; 
Their king may wear his leopards, 
His men must lead their sheep. 
But now the crook and sickle. 
The coulter and the sieve 
Are thrown aside; they take the gun 
That other men may live. 

Some Englishmen are fishermen, 
And other some are miners, 
And others man the shipping yards 
And build the Ocean liners; 
k 



146 War Rimes 

But one and all will down tools 
And up with gun and sword 
To make a stand for Freedom 
Against the War Lord. 

The pretty girls of England 
Are husbanding their charms, 
For not a girl of them but has 
Her sweetheart under arms. 
And not a girl of all the flock 
Would call across the waves 
Her sweetheart to her kindness 
While other men are slaves. 

There's been an English Kingdom 

For twice a thousand years; 

Her men have plough'd and reap'd it 

Thro' merriment and tears. 

But never a twenty year has past 

Without some stroke 's been given 

For Freedom; and the land is free 

As any under heaven. 

The Roman and the Spaniard, 
The Corsican, have tried 
Their worst, and now the German 
Must perish in his pride. 



War Rimes 147 

He may burn and thieve and slaughter, 
He may scold and storm and pray; 
But we shall fight till even his 
Stand up free men some day. 

When he is free of Germany 

And Germany of him 

There'll be a chance for plain men 

To get old Europe trim. 

Then on, you sturdy English hands, 

And keep the colours flying; 

And we'll not grudge your blessed blood 

If Tyranny's a-dying. 



148 War Rimes 



V. THE SOLDIERS PASS 

THE soldiers pass at nightfall, 
A girl within each arm, 
And kisses quick and light fall 
On lips that take no harm. 
Lip language serves them better 
Who have no parts of speech: 
No syntax there to fetter 
The lore they love to teach. 

What waist would shun th* indenture 

Of such a gallant squeeze? 

What girl's heart not dare venture 

The hot-and-cold disease? 

Nay, let them do their service 

Before the lads depart! 

That hand goes where the curve is 

That billows o'er the heart. 

Who deems not how 'tis given, 
What knows he of its worth? 
'Tis either fire of heaven 
Or earthiness of earth. 



War Rimes 149 

And if the lips are fickle 
That kiss, they'll never know 
If tears begin to trickle 
Where they saw roses blow. 

" The girl I left behind me," 
He'll sing, nor hear her moan, 
" The tears they come to blind me 
As I sit here alone." 
What else had you to offer, 
Poor spendthrift of the town? 
Lay out your unlockt coffer — 
The Lord will know his own. 



150 War Rimes 



VI. A BALLAD OF THE ' GLOSTER 

Old Style. 

COME landsmen all and ladies, 
And listen unto me 
A-singing of the ' Gloster ' 
Upon the Middle Sea. 

The * Goeben ' and the ' Breslau ' 
They cruised th' Italian main; 
No ship was there to stay them, 
Their course was fair and plain. 

But when the cruel guns open'd 
Upon them from the shore, 
From stem to stern they shiver'd, 
Not being men of war. 

Says ' Goeben,' " Mate, it won't do; 
This means there 's war declared. 
We'll find a place to hold two. 
Leastways if we be spared. 



War Rimes 151 

" The strait it is no place for us 
With all these beastly shells; 
We'll out and seek the Turkish waters 
And the Dardanelles. 

"Their winds are not so boist'rous, 
Their men are not so free, 
And not so hard on poor sailors 
Weary of the sea." 

Just then the saucy ' Gloster ' 
And her four thousand tons 
Came up against the ' Goeben ' 
And ran beneath her guns. 

"What make you on the high sea, 
And whither will you fare?" 
" We seek a goodly haven 
Where we can take the air." 

" I'll put you to a haven 
Which ought your case to fit. 
D.Jones is harbour-master, 
You show him this here chit.'* 

The seaman gunner pickt a shell 

And spat upon it first, 

Says he, "This here should give 'em beans 

If so be that she burst." 



152 War Rimes 

The ' Breslau ' gives a halloa, 
•' Be careful how you play; 
For by your random markmanship 
My funnel 's shot away." 

" Good shooting," says the ' Gloster,' 
" Now give the ' Goeben ' one," 
And being on a stern chase 
She lays the swivel gun. 

A thirty shots the * Goeben ' 
Let fly; the ' Gloster' three; 
And one she raked the main deck, 
And one she struck the sea ; 

The third she struck amidships, 
"A-done!" the 'Goeben' bawled, 
" I've got a nasty list now. 
And must be overhauled. 

" But for that blasted 'Gloster '— 
If I could do her down 
I'd be the brightest jewel 
Upon my Kaiser's crown. 

" She beats us with her gunning; 
But we've got better heels. 
Let 's have a race," says ' Goeben ' 
"And see how vidlory feels." 



War Rimes 153 

The 'Gloster,' she gave over — 
She'd had her little games, 
The • Breslau ' and the • Goeben,' 
They now bear other names. 

Now God bless all our seamen 
Who keep the English seas, 
And send them equal fortune 
With worthier foes than these. 



154 War Rimes 



VII. SOLDIER, SOLDIER . . . 

SOLDIER, soldier, off to the war, 
Take me a letter to my sweetheart O. 
He's gone away to France 
With his carbine and his lance. 
And a lock of brown hair of his sweetheart O." 

" Fair maid of London, happy may you be 

To know so much of your sweetheart O. 

There 's not a handsome lad. 

To get the chance he's had. 

But would skip, with a kiss for his sweetheart O." 

" Soldier, soldier, whatever shall I do 

If the cruel Germans take my sweetheart O? 

They'll pen him in the jail 

And starve him thin and pale, 

With never a kind word from his sweetheart O." 

" Fair maid of London, is that all you see 
Of the lad you've taken for your sweetheart O? 
He'll make his prison ring 
With his God save the King, 
And his God bless the blue eyes of my sweet- 
heart O!" 



War Rimes 155 

" Soldier, soldier, if by shot or shell 

They wound him, my dear lad, my sweetheart O, 

He'll lie bleeding in the rain 

And call me, all in vain, 

Crying for the fingers of his sweetheart O." 

" Pretty one, pretty one, now take a word from 
me: 

Don't you grudge the life-blood of your sweet- 
heart O. 

For you must understand 

He gives it to our land, 

And proud should fly the colours of his sweet- 
heart O." 

" Soldier, soldier, my heart is growing cold — 

If a German shot kill my sweetheart O! 

I could not lift my head 

If my dear love lay dead 

With his wide eyes waiting for his sweetheart O." 

*' Poor child, poor child, go to church and pray, 

Pray God to spare you your sweetheart O. 

But if he live or die 

The English flag must fly. 

And England take care of his sweetheart O ! " 



156 War Rimes 



VIII. TYE STREET 

I KNOW a song of Tye Street 
As simple as it 's true. 
Down there they want the candles out 
For what they have to do. 

Young Molly lived in Tye Street, 
Her mother's name was Moss. 
She had no father — God knows 
Who her father was. 

Yet she grew like a lily 
So lax and warm and white, 
Yet she grew like a lily flower 
That cannot get the light. 

She danced upon the pavement 
With lifted pinafore 
Until the boys took notice, 
And then she danced no more. 

The war broke over Tye Street 
In newsbills and in rags. 



War Rimes 157 

And all the upper windows 
Showed little faded flags. 

And soon the pavement corners 
Held stout young men in buff, 
And there were clingings after dark, 
And sobs and answers gruff. 

And Molly had a sweetheart 
As everybody does, 
And never knew for her part 
Why he should kiss so close. 

No sooner got than going, 
'Twas hers it seems to bless 
The waiting hours in Tye Street. 
It was a sweet distress. 

And so he went to Portsmouth 
And left her to her tears 
And waking dreams at night-time. 
And twice eight years. 

And then she had a burden 
To carry in her shawl. 
And had to hold her head high 
For fear that she should fall. 



158 War Rimes 

Out and about she took him, 
And whiter grew and thinner, 
Knowing the passion of her need 
That he should get his dinner. 

And well for her down Tye Street 
She goes in fear of falling: 
She has need of a lifted head 
In her new calling. 



War Rimes 159 



IX. THE DROWNED SAILOR 

LAST night I saw my true love stand 
All shadowy by my bed. 
He had my locket in his hand; 
I knew that he was dead. 

♦• Sweetheart, why stand you there so fast, 
Why stand you there so grave ?" 
" I think (said he) this hour 's the last 
That you and I can have. 

♦' You gave me this from your fair breast, 
It's never left me yet; 
And now it dares not seek the nest 
Because it is so wet. 

" The cold gray sea has covered it, 
Deep in the sand it lies. 
While over me the long weeds flit 
And veil my staring eyes. 

" And there are German sailors laid 
Beside me in the deep. 
We have no need of gun or blade, 
United in our sleep." 



i6o War Rimes 

♦* Dear heart, dear heart, come to my bed, 
My arms are warm and sweet!" 
'• Alack for you, my love," he said, 
" My limbs would wet the sheet. 

" Cold is the bed that I lie on 
And deep beneath the swell. 
No voice is left to make my moan 
And bid my love farewell." 

Now I am widow that was wife — 
Would God that they could prove 
What law should rule, without the strife 
That's robbed me of my love! 



War Rimes i6i 



X. BRAVE WORDS FROM KIEL 

IT was a Teuton publicist 
Whose words flowed calm and true: 
" I wish to make it clear," he said, 
"What we propose to do 
About your fleet." The sailor said, 
" Meinherr, it 's up to you." 

"We have ein fleet — in all your days 

You saw not such a sight. 

That was the most almachtiger 

That ever went to fight." 

" But it don't go," the sailor said, 

" It barks, but it don't bite." 

" Der bark it is from thunder-guns; 

So has that mighty fleet 

Ein gun — aber so wunderschon ! 

To lay it is to hit." 

" It may be so," the sailor said, 

" But let me look at it." 

"The Dreadnoughts what we have in there 
Would freeze you with their thunder 
1 



i62 War Rimes 

Of gunnery; also your ships 
Would be their sport und plunder 
If you so out of senses were — " 
The sailor said, " I wonder." 

" And we have cruisers wunderschnell, 
Whose valour there 's no curbin'. 
They was like greyhounds from ein leash 
When they work up their turbine." 
The sailor mused. " Perhaps," said he, 
" You're talking of the ' Goeben ' ? " 

" There 's plenty more like her inside ; 

She was not all we've got. 

Das Wilhelmshaven she is full 

Of what could sink your lot." 

The sailor said, "Well, that 's all right. 

Why don't you have a shot?" 

"If you could see that splendid fleet 

Which is der Kaiser's pride, 

You would not be so hot in haste 

Der issue to decide." 

" Come on, old son," the sailor said, 

" We're waiting just outside." 

" Der Admiral is such a man 
As is the great Von Kluck. 



War Rimes 163 

These was his two great qualities, 
His prudence und his pluck. 
Und when he shtart — ! " The sailor said, 
" You never know your luck." 

"You think the German fleet hangs fire 

Until the sea was flat! 

Or do you say we fear to meet 

Our foe?" The sailor spat. 

"Well, some say one thing, some another — 

What are you playing at?" 



164 War Rimes 



XL IN THE TRENCHES 

AS I lay in the trenches 
Under the Hunter's Moon, 
My mind ran to the lenches 
Cut in a Wiltshire down. 

I saw their long black shadows. 
The beeches in the lane, 
The gray church in the meadows 
And my white cottage — plain. 

Thinks I, the down lies dreaming 
Under that hot moon's eye, 
Which sees the shells fly screaming 
And men and horses die. 

And what makes she, I wonder. 
Of the horror and the blood. 
And what 's her luck, to sunder 
The evil from the good ? 

'Twas more than I could compass, 
For how was I to think 
With such infernal rumpus 
In such a blasted stink? 



War Rimes 165 

But here 's a thought to tally 
With t'other. That moon sees 
A shrouded German valley 
With woods and ghostly trees. 

And maybe there 's a river 
The like of ours at home, 
With poplar-trees aquiver 
And clots of whirling foam. 

And over there some fellow, 
A German and a foe, 
Whose gills are turning yellow 
As sure as mine are so, 

Watches that riding glory 
Apparel'd in her gold, 
And craves to hear the story 
Her frozen lips enfold. 

And if he sees as clearly 
As I do where her shine 
Must fall, he longs as dearly, 
With heart as full as mine. 



i66 War Rimes 



XII. SNOW 

THE snow comes fleeting 
Over the fen, 
With a white sheeting 
For us dead men. 
Black specks above us, 
White shrouds below — 
And my blood on the snow. 

There 's Jack in cover 
From feet to head — 
He was always a lover 
Of a soft bed. 
How the stuff drifts 
Along the hedgerow — 
A white flurry of snow ! 

When they got me 

I was fairly done; 

I had said, Come, pot me. 

My race is run. 

And all the time 

It kept on snowing — 

And that 's my life-blood flowing. 



War Rimes 167 

There 's my old mother 
To hear of it first: 
She hasn't another, 
And that is the worst. 
What would she say 
At me lying so, 
In a blanket of snow? 

There 's Black Maria, 

That swoop and shatter! 

They are bringing her nigher, 

But that don't matter. 

I'm that drowsy 

I can sleep now — 

It 's quiet here in the snow. 

I've preached no sermons 
And made no fuss 
About the Germans — 
They're just like us. 
He took me first. 
Next time he'll go — 
And lie snug in the snow. 

Who 's worked as I did 
To get a rest 
Will soon be tidied 



i68 War Rimes 

In a white nest. 

And all our filthiness 

Smothered below 

The folded lap of the snow! 

The dark comes quickly 

To blot the ground, 

And the snow 's falling thickly 

With no sound. 

I'm a long long way 

From a friend or a foe 

Here, in my fleece of snow. 



War Rimes 169 



XIII. THE BUGLES 

NOW who are ye that cross the sea 
To the bugles' breaking key? 
Mother, we are your eldest born 
That claim to follow the sounding horn. 

Carry on! Carry on! 
For England must be free. 

What is this you bring me home 
With flags to shroud them and pulsing drum? 
We bring you back your early lost; 
Bugles, give them the Lasf Post 

And then Carry on! 
Reveille is to come. 



Wipe my cheeks and dry my eyes, 
For the flag still floats and flies. 
Sons I have left to hear the warning 
Flung across the eyes of morning — 

Carry on! Carry on! 
So the land replies. 



170 War Rimes 

Sound, bugle, and banner, flaunt 
Your answer to the tyrants' taunt. 
Line the dyke and trench the dune 
While the bugles' piercing tune, 

Clarion calling Carry on! 
Flings him back his vaunt. 



NOTES 

p. 9. CORMAC, SON OF OGMUND: This was published 
in The English Review, and is a brief meditation upon the 
Kormak Saga as it is found in Origiiies Islandicce, translated in 
all its austerity and with all its mutilations by York Powell and 
Vigfussen. 

P. 17. CORMAC TO STANGERD: In Kormak Saga the 
rhymes and songs of the poet-hero are no more than hinted at, 
and according to the learned editors, nearly all of them are 
spurious. I made a prose paraphrase of the tale the other day, 
and gave these songs to Cormac to sing. They are quite near 
enough to the original scraps, those of them which are not them- 
selves original. 

P. 28. THE VOYAGE : First published in Poetry and Drama. 

P. 51. ILIAD, III: Perhaps I owe an explanation to the un- 
wary reader, who in a book of ocTlosyllabics, finds himself plunged 
into blank verse pentameters, and in a book professedly original 
finds a translation. I have tried Homer in eight-syllable verse, 
and feel that it 's too tight a fit. You are either unintelligible, or 
you are diffuse; and if you are diffuse you must fill up spaces with 
things which are not in Homer. Otherwise, the speed of odlo- 
syllables makes them a tempting measure. Hexameters will 
never do in English. If they depend upon stresses they are de- 
testable; if they attempt quantity they are unreadable. It is not 
that we have no quantity: every language has it. Rather it is 
that we have too much. We cannot say of a syllable. You are 
either a long or a short. Moreover, ours is a monosyllabic lan- 
guage. We want polysyllables, indigenous, not imported or ac- 

171 



172 Notes 

quired. We want natural dacftyls, we want dissyllables, natural 
spondees. Those which we have adapted to our purpose reek of 
their date. Used in such a business as this of the Iliad you get 
the same sort of effetfl as you would if you read a leading article 
in the open air. They would be destrucftive of their own illusion, 
no nearer to the broad, simple, splendid, surging thing than Pope 
with his mazy leverets and verdant lawns. For much the same 
reason rhyme is a dangerous game to play with Homer. Chaucer 
would have used it — but would Chaucer have been like Homer? 

What is like Homer, in English? Well, the Old Testament is 
uncommonly like him, and so is "Lang, Leaf and Myers." 
There is the best translation of the Iliad in the world, I feel sure 
— literally and, so to speak, transcendentally corredt, archaic, but 
hardly ever archaistic, sensitive and subtle but not precious; 
wanting but one thing, which indeed it does not claim, the power 
to march. For solitary reading that doesn't matter so much; but 
for reading aloud it matters greatly. I have read it aloud from 
end to end in sympathetic company. It is difificult to read, and 
difficult to listen to. It doesn't march, which Homer so essen- 
tially does. I say again that this is not its aim or intention. 
Literal accuracy and susceptibility to the atmosphere of Homer 
are the things to be sought in a prose translation of a poem, and 
nowhere else to be found as they are found here. 

But suppose one could get one's blank verse as close to the 
original, as sensitive to atmosphere, as remote from, say. The 
Light of Asia, or other explicitly blank verse narrative as this 
book succeeds in getting prose — and yet push on with the tale, 
get something of Homer's effecft of a river flood, of unstaying, 
streaming, irresistible flow — would that not be worth trying after? 
That is what I have tried to get here. 

One word more. I have chosen the third book because not only 
is it the turning-point of the Iliad, but it is the crisis, the second 
crisis, if you like (though I don't agree), of Helen's life. By 
breaking the oath the Trojans doomed themselves; by breaking 
with his honour Paris doomed himself. From that hour when 
he did violence to her delicacy Helen abhorred him. I worked 
that out in Helen Redeemed. 



Notes 173 



p. 72. THE VEILED LOVER. This is fragmentary, and 
was begun to be much longer, to include, in fac5\, the death and 
transmigration of Hippolytus. But I lost the mood, could not re- 
capture it, so print the thing as it is — with a few lines of con- 
clusion to give it at least a clean edge. 

P. 85. IN THE FOREST: First puhlishedin The For^nig/tZ/jf 
Revieiv. This is a version of a version of a version of Mallarme's 
Apres-viidi dun Faune. M. Debussy turned that poem into 
orchestral music, M. Nijinsky made it a wonder to behold. I 
have never read the original, and owe my rendering to M. 
Nijinsky's art. 

P. 90. DAPHNE AND LEUKIPPOS : This story is in 
Pausanias. 

P. loi. NIGHT-ERRANTRY: First published in 7%e H^csi'- 
minster Gazette. 

P. H2. TO THE POET LAUREATE: Published in The 

Westminster Gazette. 

P. 129. WAR RIMES. All of these rimes have been pub- 
lished in periodicals: The English Review, The Westminster 
Gazette, The Daily Chronicle. One of them, number 6, was pub- 
lished as a broadside by the Poetry Bookshop, and all the 
others, except number i, in chapbook form, under the title of 
Singsongs of the War. It only becomes me to say this about 
them, that they are an attempt to express what has been, I 
don't doubt, the experience of many besides myself: the sudden 
deepening and widening of my sympathies. Before this horrible 
business was upon us, I walked very much alone. Now, for the 
better part of a year, I have been aware of all sorts and con- 
ditions of men and women travelling my way. They have helped 
me to carry my share of the common burden, and I have tried 
to help them. That 's all. 



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